Fishing for Hope

Emily Dickinson wrote, “Hope is a feathered thing.” My own experience is that hope is more like fishing. I stand on a dock or shoreline, or sit in my canoe. I might be bottom fishing or using a bobber. Sitting patiently I wait for that little twitch on the end of my finger or the first slight dip of the bobber. A sunfish or bass is playing with the bait, nibbling with indecision. The temptation is to give the line a little jerk in the hope of hooking the fish. If I move too soon I will frighten the fish away. Sometimes they come back but I have to wait a little longer. Don’t you have hopes like that?
Of course, the fact that fish are biting keeps me at my post. I always think, “Next time.” The sun starts to go down and I say to myself, “Just a few more minutes.” I might change the bait thinking a fresh minnow will do the trick. There are times when hope strikes strong and I reel in a big one. I am so relieved that I don’t have to say, “Yeah, but you should have seen the one that got a way.”
Hope keeps me at the rod and reel. Looking for a feeding hole near a sunken log or slight inlet, I cast here and there. I watch for slight ripples on the water or shadows on the bottom of the lake or stream. I listen for the flop of a bass that has struck an insect on the surface.
I have seen so many people fishing for hope. A mother with two beautiful children hoping that she can recover her marriage. She is willing to do anything to salvage her family - and I mean anything. She does a lot of casting. A family paces in the waiting room for the doctor to return from surgery with a word of promise. Even if the prognosis is grim they keep casting for new chemistry or therapeutic remedies. A senior in high school keeps her eye on the mailbox waiting for an acceptance letter from the university. And if she does not get the big one she will pitch her line to second and third choices that she will later affirm was a better fit anyway.
Hope keeps me fishing. With patience and skill she is mine. There are many more that also get away. You cannot be a fisher if you do not hope. We cannot live without it either. Keep your fishing gear in the trunk of your car or truck. Keep casting.

Famine

Word is slowly getting out. Somalia is in the midst of the worst famine to hit Africa in a generation. Hundreds of thousands of people are fleeing to Kenya in the hope of finding food and security from the violence that is wrenching Somalia. Parents are said to walk nearly a hundred miles or more to find refuge.
One of my favorite Japanese Zen poets is Ryokan. This poem, translated by Burton Watson:
If these sleeves
of my black robe
were only wider
I'd shelter all the people
in this up-and-down world.

It is a wonderful sentiment, echoed by the Psalmist and the Gospels who speak of God as a hen whose brood finds shelter under her wings.
Famine is a fact of politics. The truth of the matter is that at the present time we have enough food to feed the world. The problem is war, equitable distribution of food resources, and most importantly, the political will to find the means to feed the people. Famine is a fact of indifference and racial prejudice. Where there is apathy and bigotry it will be impossible to find the political will to feed the hungry.
I realize that the politically correct language of governments these days is "food insecurity." I call it hunger because it is a reality that sits in the belly of children, pressing against their backbones, swelling their stomachs, and deadening their eyes. Hunger is not a matter of locking the door and joining the neighborhood watch group.
Given the fact that we have the most incompetent and ineffective Congress, perhaps in the history of the United States, I am not confident that we will be able to muster the best of the American enterprise - a generous spirit for the poor and disadvantaged. Perhaps we can keep alive the humanitarian spirit of Ryokan and press the image of open sleeves and generous hearts that will erode the dams of lifeless indifference. The future of humanity lies with the likes of Ryokan, not with political demagoguery.
(Photo found on afaceaface.com)

The Truth Hurts

I listened to Walter Brueggemann preach this morning. His message was addressed to 1700 pastors. He acknowledged that the isolation, pain, anxiety, and anger of clergy is (yes - collective and singular) rooted in the fact that we have not been faithful to the truth that God has given us. We have tried to offer a “nice” gospel to a “nice” world and we know deep in our hearts that neither is true. The world is a body, the church is a body, and we are bodies. All are susceptible to disease, old age, and death. We have been silent about the reality of the body and have feared to speak truth; not only about the obvious fact of our bodies, but of the many dis-eases that afflict them. Our lips are sealed about the powers and principalities of commerce, entertainment, and government. The church has been silent about the war in Iraq, crass materialism, a dying ecosystem, racism, and classism. We know in our hearts “the sins of our people” but will not speak of them. We know in our hearts that God offers a different vision of life and community but we will not speak of that Kingdom.
Until we speak the truth it burns like a fire in our stomachs, minds, and souls. It creates not only ulcers and headaches, but also professional malaise and the general sense that we have not been true to our calling or ourselves.
After the sermon there was total silence. I wept at the conviction of his words. And then the congregation arose to a resounding applause. We sat down again, forgoing the benediction, listening silently to the blessing of the organ.

Easter 2011

Have you planted your garden yet? Mimi and I planted ours on Good Friday. That is a Southern tradition, laying the seed in the ground as Jesus went into the ground. Old Methodist women in Georgia taught me that. Of course the vegetables that we planted will not be ready to harvest on Easter Sunday morning, so don’t over think the metaphor. And yes, the timing of Holy Week can be at odds with recommended planting dates. It is late, for example, to be planting lettuce. But I seem to have good luck with this tradition. I’ll let you know in a few weeks. The beans in the photo are Kentucky Wonder Bush Beans. I am reminded of this stanza of the Gaelic poem “Seedtime.”

Friday, it is of blessings the day,
Drops will descend in welcome array
To every seed that in sleeping lay
Since the loveless cold arrived to stay;
Each seed its roots in the earth will grow,
As the King of nature wished it so,
With the fall of dew the braird will show,
Drawing its life when the soft winds blow.*

(A braird is the first green shoots of grasses and crops.)
.
On Holy Saturday I baked bread, another rising of life. On Easter Sunday night we had roasted leg of lamb, a family tradition. We buy Kansas grown meats and this cut was not only delicious but also tender.
The lilacs, tulips, and jonquils are all in bloom. The trees have taken on those tender light green leaves. Saturday I saw my first blue bird of the season and scissors tailed flycatcher. I have also seen a lot of turkeys in the last few weeks and the ring-necked pheasants are calling from the prairie across the road.
Resurrection is all around us.

*(Seedtime is from a collection of Celtic Spiritual Verse from the Gaelic, gathered and translated by G.R.D. McLean, The Pilgrim Press.)

God's Body

Congress is in the process of budget making. One of the most disturbing parts of the House’s plan is the drastic slashing of the Environmental Protection Agency. From news accounts it would appear that the intent is to gut the EPA’s ability to carry out air and water pollution regulations. One amendment offered by Rep. John Carter (R.-Texas) would block money that the EPA would use to enforce regulations that cut the toxic emissions of arsenic, cadmium, and lead in cement plants.
There is incontestable evidence that these and other pollutants in our ecosystem damage the health of every living creature. Do we reduce the nation’s deficit at the expense of the nation’s health? What of the long-term economic costs of debilitating the health of the planet in terms of a sustainable ecosystem and capacity to grow crops? What about the expense of health care related to asthma, emphysema, and cancer that can be attributed to pollution? Are such drastic cuts economically feasible in the long term? I do not think so. Country wisdom would say it is penny wise and pound-foolish.
On the face of it, these proposals strike me as economically simplistic and immoral. Human beings and the earth will be harmed by such proposals. At a deeper level I believe that the earth is, in part, the body of God. John Muir, one of America’s founding preservationists of nature, once said that nature is the conductor of the divine and the primary source for understanding God. In his book Travels in Alaska, Muir wrote, "Every particle of rock or water or air has God by its side leading it the way it should go… The clearest way into the Universe is through a forest wilderness… In God's wildness is the hope of the world.”
When we stop protecting the earth and the many nations of her creatures we demonstrate utter contempt for the Creator. It is egregious blasphemy. On the other hand we worship God in the shelter and nurture of the earth.

Deep Peace of the snow

The last two days have seen about 18 inches of snowfall at Soggy Bottom. The snow is very dry and fine. Emily made snow angels and a snow fort, which immediately fell in on her. There are drifts on our property that are about four feet high. Mimi and I spent about two hours shoveling out the driveway. The county plowed the road early this evening.
Emily has missed two days of dance classes.
Needless to say, I have not been able to drive into my church office and I have been reading and writing at home. We had the same circumstances last week. I was actually finished with both my sermon and Sunday school lesson by 2:00 Saturday afternoon.
The snow has required us to rearrange our schedules, change our priorities, and do different kinds of work. Of course we still have the basic comforts of a heated house, electronic gadgets to work and play on. No one has to run out to the well and break through a thick layer of ice to fetch the water in wooden buckets. We also have one of those new fangled outhouses attached to the house. The only real things we might need to worry about are the loss of electricity and the propane bill next month.
It is normally very quiet where we live. With the snow it is almost silent. I do love it so. The snow, the shoveling, the silence are blessings that give my heart peace. And I pray the same for you:
The peace of winter
The peace of snowfall
The peace of silence
The peace of God
Drift deeply upon you and yours.

Ballet on the Prairie

Taking Emily to ballet lessons the other day we came across a flock of wild turkeys in a winter wheat field. There must have been about 30 of them. On another venture we saw a herd of deer. This morning a good sized coyote ran across the road in a freshly plowed soy-bean field. The Great Horned Owl hoots in a large cottonwood tree near our house. Occasionally a blaze of red streaks across my line of vision. It is the bold Cardinal making a fashion statement in the drab brown and grey of late fall.
The temperature has so far dipped down into the mid-teens this past week. An elctric circuit breaker was thrown in the garage, cutting power to the heaters in the water trough. A two inch layer of ice formed on the top, which I had to bust up and clear out of the way. The horses appreciated the gesture but my leather gloved hands did not.
As we enter the spell of winter I am reminded that our journey takes us through many seasons. The simple minded think that each is distinct and carries its own unique characteristics. Of course that is not true. The fawns that will be dropped next spring were conceived during the last few weeks. The wheat that will be harvested next summer stands like green grass in the fields today.
Our journey with God is the same. The "ages and stages" of life and faith are not distinct cartons of experience. One grows into the other, carrying the remarkable signs of age, vitality, awe, wisdom, joy, and fear. One inspires the other, teaches the other, and warns the other. These are the coursers of our spiritual journey.
Thus we cycle through the liturgical year with Advent, Christmas, Epiphany, Lent, Easter, and so on. Every step leaves behind and also carries with it the journey we have taken and will take. The seasons remind us that faith is the pilgrimage we must walk if it is going to take us any place at all. Faith is the adventure of the soul, regardless of the changes of climate and season. In our rucksack are fresh apples picked last month and cord seeds for planting come April.
Merry Christmas.