Space at the Table

Have you ever watched hummingbirds at a feeder? One shows up at a feeder with four perches. It slurps in the nectar with concentrated effort. A second hummingbird arrives to determine which of the three remaining stations it will drink from The first bird will chatter and charge the second bird. This can go on for a quite a long time. Despite the fact that there are plenty of perches for both birds - plus two more - the first bird will not give the second an opportunity to feed. In fact, they both could be eating rather that fighting.
My horses are the same way. Each receives a quart of horse feed in his or her pail at the same time. When my youngest horse, Dusty, is done with his food, he puts his nose in Red's feed pan. Then he will pull the bowl away from the mare, nibbling up the remaining grain.
Our goats butt and push each other at the food trough. These goats are so gluttonous that we have to give them overeaters shots.
All of our animals are well fed on a fairly consistent schedule. Not a day goes by that they are not offered food in the morning and the evening. If you could see them you would know that they are not wanting for food. Yet there is a constant competition for food.
Some animals will eat until they founder or suffer colic. As a nation we are facing an obesity crises that takes its toll on human beings with such diseases as diabetes and heart disease. I have been fighting the battle of the bulge for years.
What I do not understand is famine. We are told that there is enough food on the planet to feed every human being. Yet, we consistently fail to make space at the table for them. Do you think we are too much like humming birds?
Today the church remembers a Dominican recluse, Rose of Lima, who worried that we are confused about the real meaning of wealth.

Sheep from the Goats

A goat kid is perhaps one of the cutest newborns in the animal kingdom. Goats, even at a young age, display all the attributes of their parents. They are curious and will approach a stranger for no other reason than to be sociable or in the hope that food will be offered. Goats are inquisitive and intelligent. There are reports of trained goats. Like all herd animals they will stick together, more or less, and maintain an independent streak at the same time - kind of like my family. As they grow larger they become more assertive and feeding a large group of goats is not without its risks. Some nannies are aggressive with their young and will butt new born kids or deny them the teat, especially if it is a runt.
Sheep represent a different species of animal. They too are herders, but rely on the herd much more than goats. Herding is, of course, their main protection against predators. Unlike goats, sheep are more reticent to engage strangers, but will follow the voice of their shepherd. Some argue that goats are smarter than sheep but I think that depends on whether you are a goatherd or a shepherd. Sheep are more likely to run away from threats than goats are.
There are a lot of people who raise goats in Kansas, especially Boar goats, which are harvested for meat. In fact, 70% of the world's population eats goat meat. There are also goatherds that raise milk goats, such as Nubians. Their products include not only milk, but also cheese and butter. We have one of each. The kid pictured above is a a Boar. Our original plan was to raise a few Boar goats for meat. That project fell apart when Mimi and Emily named them - Katie and Hannah. They are now what you might call "pasture candy."
So, what is the issue in Matthew's gospel about separating the sheep from the goats? Both were important to the economy of Israel. Both were necessary for meat, goats for milk, and sheep for wool. Sheep dung was an important source of fuel. Young goats were favored as sacrificial animals. Perhaps that was the issue for the early church. The church wanted to distance itself from the old cult of blood sacrifice and the goat's reputation for being the image of sin and selfishness. The church now had its own "Lamb of God," and the pastoral image of a community that protected its own.
Today Mimi and I celebrate our 18th wedding anniversary.

Monarch or Milkweed?

A monarch butterfly traveled with me the other day. She flit from plant to plant seeking nourishment. The monarchs will soon be migrating south. I am truly amazed that these beautiful creatures ever arrive anywhere. The monarch seems to have no discernible flight pattern. It swoops, loops, glides, and floats. It does not seem to ride the thermal winds that could carry it long distances. Rather, they are buffeted by the wind; blown off course by passing vehicles; or even worse, splattered against radiator grills and windshields.
I hardly think these clumsy acrobatics speak well for the monarch butterfly. Any flying creature worthy of the title monarch should be in greater control of his or her destiny. A monarch should command the skies with the dignity and grace that royalty demands. Even migration should be accomplished with sovereign aplomb.
Is this not also true of human beings? Doesn't the Bible say that we are "as gods?" And if not, are we not just "a little lower than the angels?" Third rung from the top of the great chain of being is not too shabby. I would certainly like to believe that my life is an example of the crown jewel of creation. As such, I am lord of my future, marking the path I tread with clarity of purpose and potent use of my skills and talents. With majesty I cut a swath through the winds of opposition to achieve the purpose I am destined to command for the good of humanity.
The truth is, of course, that I am not nearly as beautiful as the monarch butterfly, nor am I any more graceful. I also have to be reminded that the monarch is also known as the milkweed butterfly. No royal bloodlines there. No heirs to the throne, just a common variety of plants whose common distinction is a white milky juice. The milkweed is the favorite food of the monarch. What is it that butterflies see in these plants is beyond my comprehension, but maybe that is what accounts for their less than graceful flights to winter homes.
I wonder what it is that accounts for our awkward, stumbling trek through life. My efforts to achieve a simple goal are often thwarted by fatigue, constant interruptions, and lack of resources. I cannot even take a shower without someone needing something. Like the milkweed butterfly I am sometimes blown off course by the gentlest breezes of opposition. And there are times when I am pulverized by even the most transparent wall of antagonism.
Monarch or milkweed, the migration of life goes on. With surprising consistency the monarchs arrive in the tropics where they are fruitful and multiply. Yes, there are casualties along the way, but so it is with every species of life. There are many who are battered and wounded, some who arrive late, and others who never survive the trip. Their dignity as a species is found in their determination to continue the journey - generation after generation. Perhaps their royal sustenance is found in the common fare of milkweed plants.
Today the church celebrates Lawrence, A Martyr in Rome, 2009

Animal Tracks

After a good rain I pay special attention to the animal tracks that I find on my walk. Typically these include raccoon (like the one I photographed above), deer, and coyote. There are others that I am not sure about. What is certain is that after a windy day or after the next rain these tracks will be washed away. No one will be any wiser to the presence of these animals. The habitat is little disturbed.
That can hardly be said for human beings. Our landfills are packed with garbage that will not decompose for centuries or ever. The tracks we are leaving seem all too permanent and the environment is contracting in the throes of death.
The problem is complex and expensive to solve. We try to conserve as much as can our five acres. We recycle, think about the number of necessary automobile excursions, and rely on our air conditioner as little as possible in the summer. We are planning on new energy efficient windows. When we replace our roof we will use white shingles. I have the idea that a windmill would be a good - green and clean - source of electricity. Those three ideas together will cost us between $25,000 and $30,000. But if we do not do them we will pay in other ways such as higher electricity and propane bills. The ecosystem will be further depleted.
Eventually we will do these things in an effort to reduce our footprints on the earth. I think this is a walk that we all have to take together or there will be no place to walk at all.
On this day the church remembers Joseph of Arimethea, compassionate friend of Jesus, 2009

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