A Gentle Morning at The Cove

The air was near-still, just the vaguest hint of a breeze wafted the pungent aroma of the sea and marsh, rich with salt and decaying vegetation to my nose. The marsh grasses are so vibrantly green the salt water obviously does not seem to harm them but rather enhance their beauty. Obviously they are not really grasses, but some sort of grass-like plant growing at the edges of the coves and bays on Cape Cod. They pop visually, even when the daylight is muted, as it was that night at sunset in Rock Harbor. The low-hanging, heavy clouds which had blown in from the west hid the sun so we could never really tell when the sun set.

The next morning while I sat on the porch at The Cove Motel overlooking the cove at Orleans the sky was again overcast. The clouds hung just barely above the level of fog and again shrouded the arrival of the sun. Even with the clouds muting the sun-light the colors surrounding me were vibrant. The world was awash in various shades of green with accents of lavender, cherry, yellow, rust, white and brown. The air pulsated with bird life - song birds, swans, gulls, terns, ducks, geese, and crows - a veritable symphony of sound washed over me and awoke my eardrums.

Such a muted, gradual awakening of the world from slumber under a blanket of mist or low-lying clouds seems the most comforting and perfect manner for morning to unfold. The sunlight gradually intrudes upon the world, the temperature so very gradually begins to climb, and life gently stirs and stretches, yawning into activity. This is so much more civilized than when the world is startled awake by the brilliance and glare of a full, non-shielded sun.

These types of mornings occur often near water, the night mists and fogs arising to allow this slow embrace of the day to evoke life gentle, with loving nurture. It is a most hospitable way to care for life - inviting the world to awaken by providing a muted, gentle, open and welcoming space for that to take place. I much prefer it, and it seems from the joy and celebration of the morning the wildlife agreed, to the approach that demands a response and a conforming to the will and expectations of the sun in the harsh judgement of a naked sunrise. When the land and water is overshadowed by clouds they create an arena of peace where the plants and animals and birds can slowly stretch their limbs and begin to explore their capabilities and the world around them without the harsh judging glare and withering gaze that sternly demands results.

Would that we could provide such welcoming arenas for one another as human beings.

Memories Triggered by Familiar Sounds

The sound of the cicada's was omnipresent. The distant moan and rumble of the train washed over me like a warm shower. But it was the church bell's - just a brief Westminster chime sounding the quarter hour - which evoked the memories triggered by familiar sounds. I had not heard the sound of church bells in ages. A carillon used to sound from the steeple of Columbia Presbyterian Church, located right next to the Columbia seminary campus, several times a day, but most noticeably for me at the six o'clock hour every evening. Then First Congregational United Church of Christ in Elkhart, Indiana, followed by Melbourne UCC in Florida both had carillons serenading the local communities, primarily downtown business districts, with lovely sacred music several times each day. When I moved to Christ Congregational UCC in the south suburbs of Miami the carillon was turned off because the neighbors had complained to the County government about the intrusion into their lives with "church music." Shortly after I arrived we briefly turned the carillon back on, just to play the Westminster chimes on the hour, but the neighbors again began sending us nasty notes. Before we could even decide whether to turn it off or not, the carillon stopped playing and we never pursued repairs. Truth is none of the members of Christ Church really lived close enough to ever hear the bells and, other than the Preschool staff, the rest of the staff was never really present to hear them very often either. Still, I do miss the gentle sound of old church hymns played by carillon bells. Hearing the bells always brought me comfort and peace, often triggering positive, happy memories.

While reflecting on the church bells my ears picked up the distant moaning of a train horn following by the rhythmic parting of the sound waves by the passing of the train cars on nearby tracks. Again, the doors of nostalgia opened on past lives. The sound of trains did not become a regular part of my life until I moved to Columbia Seminary in Decatur, Georgia. The tracks were about a half mile away, close enough to hear the train as a distant romantic serenade, rather than an intrusive oppressive presence. Especially pleasant were the late night trains passing and offering a gentle form of lullaby while trying to drift off to sleep following late night studies. The trains followed me to Cullman, Alabama that first seminary summer, and then to Joshua, Texas my second summer, and even to Elkhart, Indiana in my first church after graduation. For eight years trains offered an audible connection with a romantic view of Americana, the earlier history of westward expansion, and a feeling of the transportation lifeblood of the country pulsating with life. When I moved to Melbourne, Florida, even though the church was one block off the Florida East Coast Railway, the trains did not seem to run as often and I can barely recall their presence. Since moving to Miami they have clearly faded the arena of nostalgia.

Strolling comfortably with these audible memories suddenly the cicadas jumped into my awareness. They had been providing an omnipresent backdrop of white noise so prevalent in northern climes in the temperate zone where forests with significant growth of deciduous trees are the rule. Sitting on the porch where we are staying, the sound of the cicada's ebbed and flowed, swelling to the crescendo that surrounded and enveloped as though it was a physical presence, only to fall to pianissimo level that never fades away, remaining at the lowest level of audible awareness.

I am not as aware of the sounds of my life in Florida as I was during this early morning meditation. What I did recall at that moment, becoming aware of their absence, is the sound of birds that are very present in Miami. There were no songbirds this morning. I don't hear songbirds in Miami either. Our birds are not the melodic type. We have mockingbirds and doves, jays and crows, parrots and peacocks, all joined by the squirrels. They offer more staccato, or screeching, or haunting calls rather than melody, but it is very present.

I will need to listen more closely when I return home to identify the prominent sounds surrounding me, providing the sound track for my life.

(The pictures offer a taste of the setting for this auditory reflection.)

The Glorious Poinciana

It was a scene straight out of some "indie" film. I was lying on my back, floating in my pool with my ears submerged so I heard no sound but the sound of the water. Staring straight up from there I was gazing at the most beautiful scarlet-orange poinciana blossoms, framed by the nearly lime-green miniature leaves fresh this spring, against a hazy bluish-white sky. It was deliriously gorgeous. (Poinciana trees [several pictures of them are posted here for those unfamiliar with them] are quite possibly my very favorite thing about living in South Florida. Along with the glorious weather 12 months of the year, which allows for continual golf, bougainvillea blossoms, orchids, frangipani trees, peacocks, ibis, white herons, and so many things that truly make this paradise.) With no sound accosting my ears or my awareness, what I was viewing was immensely more beautiful and intense. I felt like I was watching the opening scene of some strange, artsy, Sundance-worthy independent film and the camera was soon going to pan away to some obscure, or some strangely horrific scene. It was a mini-sabbatical moment.

I have been able to find such mini-sabbatical moments quite frequently, I have just been very terrible about making the time to write them down and reflect on them in the blog. I made a commitment to write at least once a month in this blog and I have done a terrible job fulfilling that commitment. Nor have I been writing in my journal, although I have probably written several more times there than here.

One of those journal entries I was able to identify that television watching had become part of my downfall for finding time to write and reflect on life. (Although I am doing quite a bit of writing, as I have now begun posting a weekly eDevotion for the members of my church, and having become Moderator of the Florida Conference United Church of Christ I am now needing to write a quarterly column for their newsletter and I intend to begin writing, perhaps monthly, eDevotions for the Conference clergy and lay leaders.) I do like to write. It is very cathartic for me and probably my favorite means for expressing myself. I really do enjoy the discipline of writing in this blog and in my journal and when I do not make that time I greatly miss it.

Anyway, I am recommitting myself, and I believe since we are entering the summer season and the regular television shows have all ended (including Lost, which was phenomenal, Fringe, which is almost as good, The Amazing Race, the only reality show worth watching, American Idol, what can I say, I get sucked in like everyone else, V, I am a sucker for Sci-Fi, and two which have been cancelled, so I will hopefully be watching a little less come next Fall, Heroes and FlashFoward) to writing regularly in my journal and on this blog. I will be making a stronger effort to share with you more of my experiences with mini-sabbaticals and other reflections on the wonderful dance of Sabbath Tango.

A Most Unusual Sabbath Moment

I continue to struggle, obviously, with my commitment to write every day in my journal and regularly on this blog. I still am not quite sure why. I do believe I am having trouble managing all my email and my addiction to information on Facebook and other blogs. That may be more excuse, or symptom, rather than actual issue, but that is where my thinking is moving right now.

I did have a reflection that grew out of a rather unique "sabbath" moment. I will share part of the reflection and then maybe add some more comments afterward. This is what I wrote one night back in January while I was on-call for VITAS Hospice and attending a death.

So I'm sitting in a patient's room in a nursing home, waiting for the funeral home to come and transport her body. On the wall facing her bed, in this otherwise very cold and sterile environment, is a small print of Seurat's "La Grande Jatte." It is a rather interesting painting hanging in a strange setting, so that I find it rather absurd. The painting is full of life, though somewhat surreal due to the pointillism style of design and due to the strange aura of underlying horror, sadness, uncomfortable feeling that pervades what, on the surface appears as a happy painting about people enjoying a bright day in a park. Having thought about it, perhaps it is a most appropriate print for a place where there is horror, sadness, and great discomfort being lived out every day in a facility that makes only a token effort to mask the horrible reality of people aging and dying without the presence of real love and often in great loneliness.

I always think of my son, Paul, when I see that painting. It is one of his favorite pieces of art. I called him in Salt Lake City (actually I texted him and then he called me back) to share my experience with him of seeing this print in this surreal setting. We had a very good conversation. He has clearly begun a new life for himself in Salt Lake City. His family, me included, clearly wants to still take care of him and cushion him from the harsh realities of the world. But I am growing to believe that he needs to find his own way in the world - even if it means taking some lumps along the way. I know he has a good foundation we gave to him. I know he is a smart young man and I truly believe he knows we are there for him. I trust him to himself and the arms of God and know he will be OK.

I do not often have a chance while I am working for VITAS to spend time in reflection and in jotting down some of those thoughts. Usually on a death visit I am very focused on family members present and helping them begin to cope with their grief over the loss of their loved one, as well as handle the details of calling the funeral home, dispose of the controlled medications in sent to the patient, and fill out the paper work to document the death and what I have done.

But in this case, there was no family present. Family was notified but chose not to come to the nursing home. There was no staff present, they were off handling other patients. So it was just me alone, with the dead patient, and my thoughts. It turned out to be a very positive and helpful "sabbath" time for reflection about life, death, and my relationship with my son.

What I learned out of the experience was to be alert for those moments of "mini-sabbath" opportunities that occur along the way. They are most irregular. They often come out of the blue, usually when you are not really looking for them. But they can be very powerful, both in terms of nurturing my soul, my spiritual life, but also in terms of nurturing my heart and mind. They can bring a refreshing sense of mental and emotional renewal, as well as spiritual renewal. A new step in the dance of Sabbath Tango!

The pictures are from the Art Institute in Chicago, the Seurat painting "La Grande Jatte." The larger picture is the whole piece. The closer view of the little girl in the middle begins to illustrate some of the underlying unsettling feelings in the picture.

Celebrating God's Continuous Epiphanies

Epiphany is the celebration of the truth that the God we worship through Christianity is a God who has revealed God's self to the world. Most clearly we Christians believe that revelation has been made through the person of Jesus of Nazareth, the Anointed One of God, the Christ. Epiphany is the Feast of the Magi, or Three Kings. It is a celebration of light bursting forth into a world shrouded in shadows and darkness.

Unfortunately I did not get up early this morning and walk to the bay to view the sunrise, which would have been a most appropriate way to mark the Day of Epiphany. But temps in the high 30's in Miami are way too cold for those of us who have lived here long enough we no longer have body memory of freezing weather. So, I stayed in my nice warm bed and gained an extra hour of sleep, which I never seem to get in sufficient quantity.

Yesterday, however, the 12th Day of Christmas, I did not receive "12 drummers drumming" but I did enjoy a "revelation" experience. The night before I was on-call for VITAS and had to attend a death at midnight, an event which lasted until 4 a.m. Again, my sleep was inhibited, so I slept late (until 9 a.m.) and decided I had to go for a walk before going to work, so I took my walk to "The People's Dock" late in the morning before noon. ("The People's Dock" was the name of the public landing that abutted the south side of the Deering Estate property in the early 1900's. Access to that dock is still public, even though Miami-Dade County Parks have expanded the Deering property southward beyond the "South Wall". Since my traditional walk destination on the bay has been closed for six months of renovation work, I now walk about a half mile further to "The People's Dock", which in many ways is actually a superior location from which to view Biscayne Bay, some mangrove islands, and of course if I get there in time, the sunrise.)

Anyway, upon arriving at the Dock, I paused before taking in the water view to peer over the gate in the South Wall of the Deering Estate, just to see what I could see and was surprised to be staring down into the face of a mother raccoon and her two babies. She was equally shocked to be staring up at me. They had been moving out from some heavy grass and I believe were in process of crossing the grassy driveway which proceeds from the gate into the property, probably moving toward the water, when I poked my head into their world! We stared at each other for a brief moment in shock, before she quickly recovered her wits and decided to retreat to the protection of the heavy grass, where I could no longer track her movements. Her two babies followed immediately.

It was the briefest of encounters, but was a marvelous experience. It reminded me again of the much wider, much wilder, creation with which we share this world. Even in what we think of as highly urbanized locations, nature still breaks in and exerts her presence. We share this planet with a far more diverse tree of life than we acknowledge on a daily basis. We are surrounded by a wide variety of birds, even amongst our tallest buildings. Any body of water attracts waterfowl more than we usually stop and appreciate. Though we try our utmost best through our fumigating and exterminating, there are far more insects in our personal spheres of movement than we like to think about. And higher mammals have not yet been wiped out by us, but instead continue to find ways to adapt to our omnipresent influence.

Beyond that, though, the experience also reminded me that I need to remain alert in life and be willing to "look over the wall" to the other side from time to time. (I am not advocating voyeurism, but a removal of the "blinders" I far too often wear as I move through my daily existence.) One never knows what lies just beyond the wall, or in the underbrush, or around the next bend. It is so very easy to develop tunnel vision and never look to the left or right as I move through life. How many "revelations" of the beauty and wonder and glory of God have I missed??? I need to be sure and keep removing the blinders and keep looking for God's next surprise!

A sunrise of promise for 2010

The sun rose brightly over Biscayne Bay on a new day, a New Year, a New Decade. There were clouds on the horizon so the sun was slightly delayed in breaking forth with bright rays of hope and glory for the new day. Somewhat symbolic it seems. Since 2009 was such a difficult year for so many of us undoubtedly we will not be able to put it behind us as quickly as we might like. While 2010 holds the promise of being a better year and for many of the problems of the past several years to begin to be solved, resolved, and improved upon, it will probably not feel a lot different than 2009 for the first part of the year. The promise, though, is that just as the sun did rather quickly rise above the clouds to a clear, open sky to shine forth brightly, 2010 will eventually prove to be a brighter, better year than 2009.

It has begun well for me. I did get up at 6:00 a.m. to walk to the Bay to start my day. As I left the house the full moon which closed out 2009 was still shining in the western sky through a slight haze hanging over the darkened world, whether from Florida humidity, or the remains of all the fire works exploded by our neighbors the previous night (it was like a war zone) providing an ethereal illumination for the beginning of the walk. The sunrise was well worth waking up early and the walk. It is always very nourishing for my soul to spend even just a few minutes down by the Bay at the start of the day. That also means I got my exercise and meditation walk in for the day. I then spent the rest of the morning cleaning up the house to get ready for my daughter to return with one of her Law school classmates for a few days before they have to return to Pennsylvania.

I have also been able to write this post for the blog, which makes two days in a row and provides a good start to 2010. That is my primary resolution this year: to make a commitment to finding time to write, either in my blog or in my private journal, every day. I wrote almost every day when I was on sabbatical. That was in addition to studying Spanish, doing homework, exploring the city in which I was living. There really should not be any excuse for not writing. So I will make a commitment to doing that each and every day this year.

Happy New Year one and all. Hold onto the hope and promise of the sunrise for a new day for our world in 2010!

Some final thoughts on/in 2009!

Happy New Year! It is 11:00 p.m. on December 31, 2009. I have done a lousy job of regular postings on this blog this past fall. My last post, "A New Commitment to Sabbath Time" talked about a plan for incorporating mini-retreats into my monthly schedule. I did achieve that to some extent: I had a trip to Orlando in November for the Florida Conference Board of Directors' meeting. I had some great reflection time in the car on the drive to Orlando and actually composed some blog posts in my mind, but then never made the time to sit down and actually commitment them to computer and post on the blog!!!! Then I had a nice weekend off for my annual immersion in NASCAR during the final Sprint Cup race in Homestead, Florida. That has developed into a very enjoyable, mindless, ritual event for me. It started as a means to better connect with my son who was a temporary NASCAR fan when in elementary school, because his best friend was a fan. Eventually Paul grew out of that interest, which was never very deep, but I had become hooked. Unfortunately, the weekend is all focused on watching the cars drive the track and there is not much reflection or meditation time. It is not an experience that requires a lot of mental activity, but it does require focus, even if somewhat mindless. Still, I have grown to enjoy it and look forward to it every year. Over Thanksgiving I enjoyed a long weekend, with a trip to Naples to have Turkey Dinner with my father-in-law. You may remember from the last post that during the trip to Naples in October I actually developed a deeper appreciation for the view from his patio as a place to meditate, reflect and blog. But that didn't develop this time in November, or on our trip over on Christmas Day. Both trips were nice and relaxing in terms of providing a break from the regular hectic schedule of daily work life. The first weekend of December also provided a break of sorts. Dianne and I traveled to Melbourne/Palm Bay to join with the Riviera UCC folks in celebrating 120 years of ministry to those two communities. This was the church I served for 9 years upon first coming to Florida when it was located in downtown Melbourne. I had very little responsibility for the weekend, just reading scripture in worship on Sunday, and enjoying their celebration banquet, greeting and visiting with old friends, on Saturday evening. It was a nice break from the regular Advent routine. This past week was nice and slow and I had a good visit with my two children, even if too brief with my son. He and his sister arrived the day after Christmas, along with Dianne's daughter, her family, and Di's brother and family for a very full day of family Christmas. Then there was worship on Sunday. But we did get to the movies twice as a family, enjoyed several videos and one game of cards, and several good dinners. Now he has gone back to Palm Bay for three days before flying back to Utah for the start of the next semester at college. His sister is returning here tomorrow for a few more days with us, along with one of her new law school buddies who needed a Florida sunshine break from the Pennsylvania winter.

The only problem with all those breaks these past two months is they were actually too many. The result was even more stress and pressure during the regular weeks of work, as all my regular work commitments had to be completed in the remaining time each month. While I really enjoyed the down time and the change of schedule, what I learn from this experience is the need for balance: I need some down time for reflection and meditation, but not too much, unless it is a large block of time taken all at once, like a week or two of vacation, or a longer retreat or continuing education event. I also need to make sure and incorporate at least a brief period for reflecting and writing those reflections so that the time takes on more depth and, especially when I do have a meaningful reflection like I did several times on some of the long drives, I don't lose those thoughts to the ether.

Anyway, while I missed November with a post, here is one for December, a final one for 2009, and I am saving some thoughts for tomorrow morning and hopefully my first post for 2010. Happy New Year!