Dance of the Cottonwoods

The cottonwood is the state tree of Kansas. It must be a righteous tree, for as the Psalmist declared it is planted along the streams of water. It prospers and its leaves do not wither. (Ps. 1) Certainly cottonwoods love easy access to water and are found along the banks of ditches, streams, rivers, lakes and ponds. Their seed in a wispy white fluff that floats on the air. It sometimes looks like falling snow.
On my walk I pass several cottonwood trees. What I love about them is the way the leaves dance in the breeze. Leaves on other trees just seem to lean. The leaves on the cottonwood shiver and jitter in the wind. With the dance of the cottonwood leaves, sunlight frolics with sparkling reflection.
There are people like that. My ten-year-old daughter, Emily, is just such a person. When she was four-years-old she said to me, "Dad, I love my life." And Emily's life is a love of dance - ballet, tap, modern, Irish, and African. Seldom will you watch Emily dance and not see her smile. I remember the first year she danced in Tchaikovsky's Nutcracker. There were several performances, not to mention countless rehearsals that her mom drove her to. After the last performance her mother said, "Are you glad that is over?" Emily looked at her as if dear old mom had absolutely lost her mind.
When Emily and her best friend, Katie, get together it is a forest of cottonwood trees glittering and flickering as if they were the true source of energy in the cosmos. They sing, dance, ride horses, swim, and watch television in a swirl of motion and endless giggling chatter. It takes my breath away.
Like the cottonwood trees on my country road these two little girls make me smile. I think cottonwood trees and such children as these are fairies that God sends to make me walk a little lighter, grin, and if no one is watching, dance a step or two myself.
The Feast of St. Christopher, the patron saint of travelers, 2009

Blinded by the Light

When I strike out on my morning walk our country lane takes me eastward. The sun is coming up and I have difficulty seeing what is ahead of me. I am blinded by the light, so to speak. Even with the brim of my hat lowered over my eyes I cannot discern the horizon. As soon as I reach Eagle Road I turn around and head toward the house. The sun is now at my back. It is as if I am entering a new world. Everything is clear and the horizon is markedly distinct.
Light is a word that we use a lot in our culture. We would rather think that we are children of the "Enlightenment" than fellows of the "Dark Ages." Christians believe that they are children of the Light and that they are guided by the Light of Truth. Jesus teaches us that we do not light our lamps and then hide them under a bushel basket.
It matters where the light is in our lives. If we imagine that we can run madly in to the light we will be blinded. We might even be burned, regardless of whether the light is the sun or God.
I think we have to come out of the light, with the light behind us or on our shoulders, so to speak. When we come out of the light it clarifies what is before us. With the light behind us we know where we have traveled, what we have seen, and what we have learned. Sometimes that is the best light of all.
Celebrate today the light of Sojourner Truth, Civil Rights prophet at activist, 2009

The Evidence of Things Not Seen

Rain fell last night, rinsing clean the canvas of nature. On my walk this morning I found a fresh hawk feather. Deer prints crossed the road in two different places. Animal scat, I think from a coyote, provided work for dung beetles. The bob-bob-white call of the quail was carried on the breeze. I did not see the hawk, the deer, the coyote, or the quail. All I saw was the evidence of their being and I am convinced they were present during the early morning hours.
Love is like that. All that I know of love is the evidence that it tracks across my heart. I have never seen love, though I have seen the faces of lovers and loved ones. I can offer the evidence but not the thing itself.
God is like that. All that I know of God is the evidence that God tracks across my soul. And like love, I have never seen God, though I have seen God in the faces of lovers and loved ones. I held both God and love in my arms as my grandfather took his last breath. The evidence of God is gathered in the acts of compassion and justice that I have seen in the work of Martin Luther King, Jr., Dorothy Day, Oscar Romero, and many more. Rain and hawk feathers are what I know of God. The defenders of human dignity are what I know of God.
In the letter to the Hebrews (11:1) the author wrote, "Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen." So every morning I start an undimmed trek across the face of life. I carry a hiking stick, binoculars, magnifying glass, and a pocketful of bags marked "evidence."
The Feast of Silas, traveling companion of Paul, 2009

The wheat fields have been harvested. Ground feeders are gleaning the remnants. Thus I saw a male Ring-necked Pheasant foraging in the north field. A few hundred feet further down the road a flock of young Pheasants rose up from the prairie in flight, the hen squawking warning to them and threat to me. Yet further down the road a mother Quail took flight westward. Seconds later her covey of young took flight eastward. She was clearly trying to lead me away from her young. On my way back to the house two Plovers circled overhead, howling at my dangerous presence to their young. Plovers build their nests on the ground. If you approach the nest the adults will flop around on the ground making all kinds of noise as if they are injured. They are hoping that the menacing intruder will attack them and neglect the nest of young. It reminds me of a time when I was hiking the Appalachian Trail. A Grouse hen with a brood of young was actually scurrying ahead of me on the trail. The mother, apparently thinking that I was too close, turned around and raised her wings in attack formation. She let loose a horrible yet and charged me.
It is amazing what animals will do to protect their young and save them from danger. I remember a young woman who lived close to my church in Florida. She was very poor. It was the dead of winter and very cold. She had an electric heater and her neighbors allowed her to run an extension cord from their house to her's to power the heater. She placed the heater next to her baby's crib. During the night a blanket fell from the crib onto the heater. The mother smelled the smoke, heard the cry of her child, and rushed into the baby's room. The entire crib was engulfed in flame. The mother reached in with both arms and snatched up the burning pyre that was her child. Sadly, the baby died. The mother was severely burned from her fingertips to her shoulders.
The Psalmist pleads, "hide me in the shadow of your wings." (Psalm 17: 8b) The way of Pheasants, Quail, Plover, Grouse, and Mothers had taught the poet something of the nature of love and care for the future. We may hope for such protection from God. May we hope for such safekeeping from one another? My, what a different world that might be.

The Feast of Thomas More, 2009