Monday Morning Musing

In a recently watched episode of "Picard," Jean Luc told his crew, "You are really only as good as those around you. Your crew becomes a part of you, they complete you, they lift you up so together you can accomplish great things." These words remind me of watching five young ducks swim along the shoreline at my brother's house near Ely. Even though their mother had left them, they remained together, swimming side by side, knowing there was safety in numbers. Later, as I looked down into the water, I watched large schools of small minnows moving together like synchronized swimmers in the Olympics. The minnows, like the ducks, found safety in being together. Each morning, blackbirds swoop into my yard and hang out for a few minutes. Eventually, one bird calls and they fly off together in search of a new place to gather.  Whether it be ducks, minnows, or blackbirds, their "crew becomes a part of them" and "they lift each other up so they can accomplish great things."

Recently, I stopped by a small lake near Cromwell and I noticed hundreds of white water lilies in bloom. Even though a single water lily is beautiful, there is something breathtaking about hundreds of lilies opening up and revealing their yellow pistils in the morning sun.  In a similar way, my heart is filled with joy when a whole congregation sings a well worn hymn in full voice.

This past weekend, I attended a church service, an outdoor cookout, and a celebration of life. I realized that just like ducks, minnows, and blackbirds, we also gather in the company of others. In Paul's letter to the Ephesians he writes, "I encourage you to live as people worthy of the call you receive from God. Accept each other with love, and make every effort to preserve the unity of the Spirit with the peace that ties you together." (Ephesians 4:1-3) My prayer this week is that whether we gather like ducks who find safety in numbers, lilies whose collective beauty dazzles the eye, or a congregation who lifts up praise to God in a unified voice, we realize that we are at our best when we embrace those around us. In this way, we can accomplish great things together as a fully formed Body of Christ and for the transformation of the world. 

Saturday was a full day. It started early with a breakfast fundraiser for Grace House, a non-profit that provides shelter for people experiencing homelessness. Grace House is Itasca County's only homeless shelter, and it serves more than 200 individuals and children each year. Later in the morning, I attended a service celebrating the long life of a well known member of the Grand Rapids United Methodist Church. After a wonderful lunch, I headed east to Moose Lake United Methodist Church to visit their community garden and attend a concert of old time music by Skally Line. It was exciting to see how beautiful the garden is this year. The beds are well tended, food is being harvested for the local food shelf, and new friendships are being formed in the work of planting, watering, and weeding. On my way home from Moose Lake, I realized that although each event was very different from the other, there was one common thread, transition. Grace House supports people who want to transition from homelessness to having a home to call their own, the Celebration of Life celebrated the passing of a beloved person transitioning from this life into eternal life, and the concert at Moose Lake UMC celebrated the seasonal transitions of a garden where new fruit emerges out of the earth. 

On Sunday, I participated in energetic liturgies in HIbbing and Hill City. I look forward to gathering with these congregations as well as Cromwell UMC for worship each week.. Although the liturgy at each church is different, they all seek renewal through Jesus Christ and worship is a time of transition anchored in community. It is always my hope that we never leave Sunday service the same as we entered. Sometimes, it might be just a small glimmer of hope found while singing a new hymn or finding new meaning in a well known passage of scripture. This weekend, one sentence that is renewing me is from Paul's letter to the Ephesisans, "speaking the truth in love, we must grow up in every way into him who is the head, into Christ."  (Ephesians 4:15) 

My prayer this week is that we  continue to seek out new ways to grow in our love of both Jesus Christ and neighbor, so this world can transition from evil, hate, and war into the loving world God always intended it to be.

Sunday, I stopped by the grocery store to pick up something for dinner on my way home from church. Instead of grabbing a pizza from the frozen food section, I put a whole chicken in my cart on my way to pick up milk, eggs, and a can of coffee. Once home, I realized it had been awhile since I stuffed a chicken, mashed real potatoes, and cut up fixings for a salad. Usually on Sunday afternoon, I pick up something all ready to go, so when Sunday evening rolls around, I park myself on the couch while watching the latest programming on Britbox, Netflix, or Prime TV. As I got out a roasting pan, peeled potatoes, chopped onions and celery for stuffing, and washed leaf lettuce, radish, and tomatoes for a salad, most of the afternoon had quickly flown by. My phone hardly rang and I only sent or responded to a few text messages. Most of the afternoon was relatively silent. Although fixing a chicken dinner is not difficult, if done well, it takes time to prepare and cook the food. For the first time in a long time, I slowed down to enjoy the work of fixing a Sunday chicken dinner. 

Around six o'clock, I took the chicken out of the oven, made gravy, and put the potatoes, stuffing, and salad in Fiesta Dinnerware serving dishes. I set the table and put the beautifully roasted chicken on a platter next to the potatoes and stuffing. I poured myself a glass of iced tea and sat down. As I began to say grace, I realized something was missing. No, it wasn't salt, pepper, butter or dessert. As much as I enjoyed the silence of preparing the food, I realized that I could easily have served five or six people. In the busyness of preparing my banquet, I forgot to pick up the phone and invite others to join me once the table was set.

In John's Gospel from Sunday, Jesus feeds five thousand on a remote hillside with just five loaves of bread and two fish. Even though the disciples wanted to send the crowd away to fend for themselves, Jesus asked the crowd to sit down and break bread together. My prayer this week is that whether we prepare a chicken dinner or a peanut butter sandwich, have a picnic at the beach or share the bread and cup at Sunday liturgy, we make sure we invite others to join us at the table.

"Then Jesus took the loaves, and when he had given thanks, he distributed them to those who were seated; so also with the fish, as much as they wanted." (John 6:11)

Is it even possible to live in northern Minnesota and not have a favorite tree? 

Recently, at an outdoor worship service, those in attendance were asked to share stories about trees. I was deeply moved when hearing about an old maple tree that continues to reach to the heavens even though its trunk is scared and disfigured, a tree that provided shelter in the rain, and a tree that listened to one person in time of great loss. Pine, aspen, and birch are as much a part of us as is the blood in our veins and the air that we breathe.  We have so much faith in trees that we use them in the beams and trusses of our churches, homes, and barns because we know that when we are no longer here, they will remain steadfast. 

I also have a favorite tree, the tamarack. One fall, after the death of my father, tamaracks comforted my mother and me on our way home from the hospital when thousands of them shimmered gold in the sunlight just north of Tower, Minnesota. In the winter, after their needles have fallen, their trunks remain standing. Naked, they remind me that spring will come if one can just hang on. Each spring, their bright green needles transform the bog. Indeed, new life  springs out of the muck and mire. However, my favorite part of the tamarack shows itself each summer. The small cone, when it first appears, is a beautiful shade of green and almost translucent. Like a newborn infant, it is vulnerable when first appearing and seeks shelter in the branches and needles of its parent.

Today, as the world careens from one crisis to the next and millions suffer because of humanity's inability to prioritize the care of one's neighbor over the desire for power, maybe we need to turn to trees for advice. Afterall, they listen to our lament when others turn away, and they support our churches when pews are empty. Just like the tamarack provides refuge to its fruit when it is most vulnerable, we too must provide shelter for the most vulnerable when the storms of life rage on. My prayer this week is that we pray Psalm 1: 1-3.

Happy are those who do not follow the advice of the wickedor take the path that sinners tread or sit in the seat of scoffers,  but their delight is in the law of the Lord, and on his law they meditate day and night. They are like trees planted by streams of water,which yield their fruit in its season, and their leaves do not wither.In all that they do, they prosper.

 Sunday morning, I woke up at sunrise to witness the opening of the first red dahlia blossom. I have written many times about red dahlias. They were one of my father's favourite flowers and provided joy at a grandson's wedding and comfort during the funeral of my brother.  I clearly remember pulling into the driveway at my parent's home in Ely and seeing rows of tall red blossoms moving gently in the summer wind. Even in the fall, some would continue to bloom, red petals peeking out after an early snow. Of course, there are other flowers that also grab my attention. Just the other week, I stopped by a small lake and fought off thousands of mosquitos so I could sit near the water's edge and have a conversation with hundreds of water lilies in full bloom. Saturday, I saw roses in full bloom at a friend's home making a nearby propane tank look dignified. 

Flowers, both wild and cultivated, help us deal with loss, find their way into Sunday morning worship service, and help us celebrate weddings, anniversaries, and birthdays. When we take the  time to plant them in gardens, pots, and window boxes, it gives us a chance to break away from the darkness of the world. When we plant flowers into forgotten spaces, we are better able to see possibility and hope. 

Sunday, as I went out to enjoy the blooming of the red dahlia, I also prayed for the loss of life and those injured at a political rally in Pennsylvania. As many of us hold close the families of those who died and for the recovery of a former president, my prayer this week is that the harsh rhetoric of political debate is put aside, and we seek solace in a flower garden. It is then we can realize these words from the Song of Solomon, "The flowers appear on the earth, the time of singing has come, and the voice of the turtledove is heard in our land." (Song of Solomon, 2:12)

Sunday evening, I took a stroll down to the boat landing on Trout Lake near my home. Leaning over the rail of the fishing pier, I saw boats of all kinds heading to shore. There were fancy fishing boats accessorized with all kinds of gizmos needed to locate every single fish in the lake. It used to be that the fish had a sporting chance in a game of hide and seek, but no longer. Off in the distance, a jet ski zipped across the top of white caps, while not too far from shore, a lone paddle board glided through lily pads. A kayak effortlessly skimmed along the water's surface, followed by a couple paddling a canoe with such precision they would make a Swiss clockmaker envious. 

In many ways, all of these watercraft remind me of the many paths one might take when following Jesus Christ. The fisherfolk in fancy boats are like the disciples that cast their nets so others could know Jesus, employing every strategy available to them to guarantee a good catch. The jet ski is like those energetic preachers who with great gusto fill as many pulpits as possible on a single Sunday. The paddle boarder is the steady person of faith, not afraid to be out in deep water and just as comfortable paddling through the muck and mire of everyday life. Kayakers choose a solitary voyage when traveling with Christ. Their gentle, smooth strokes provide ample time to discover the mystery of God in solitude and calm. The young couple in the canoe discover the beauty and love of Christ in the oneness of their paddling. Communities of faith could learn much from canoeists. 

Of course, I did not see my favorite boat of all! The old wooden fishing boat! As a small boy, I remember my dad letting me take the red boat out on the water in front of our home on Shagawa Lake. I would grip both oars and pull hard, thrusting the boat through the water on a calm summer evening. If the wind would pick up, I would struggle to keep moving ahead in a straight line while my father watched from shore waiting to rescue me if I needed help. In some ways, the old wooden fishing boat is not unlike many churches today who also struggle to keep their oars moving in the same direction in order to push their boat through rough waters. However, just like I had my father watching me from shore, waiting to rescue me if I needed help, we have Jesus Christ who is also available to help us through stormy waters and rough seas. 

 

This past weekend, I broke bread with a childhood friend in Grand Rapids, Minnesota. During our visit, she reminded me of the junior high play we were in together, “Bridges…Are When You Cross Them.” Of course, neither of us could remember much about the plot, except that she played a teenage girl with an amazing imagination, and I played her pesky little brother. The title of the play remained in my thoughts all night, so much so, that when I awoke to take my 5am walk, I stopped on a bridge just steps from my home in Coleraine that spans highway 169.

Looking west, I saw my usual Sunday route to Hill City United Methodist Church, and looking east, I saw my new route to Hibbing to begin my assignment at Wesley United Methodist Church. The bridge, exactly 30 miles from Hibbing and  30 miles from Hill City, connects the two churches by highway 169. In a similar way, Jesus Christ is also a bridge, and the love he provides connects not only these two churches, but all Christian churches. Although churches may disagree on all kinds of things, they are bound together by a shared love for Christ, and conversely, by Christ’s unconditional love for us.

As I stand on this bridge, I realize that many bridges and dams south of my home have recently been destroyed or badly damaged by floods and storms. My prayer this week is that our churches will work together to create bridges of relief and comfort for those who are suffering the loss of homes, businesses, and ways of life. The love of Christ binds us together. May that same love be extended quickly and generously to those in need of our care and concern.

Take time to smell the flowers! If you are unwilling to stick your nose into a daisy for fear of a bumble bee, at least get out of your car and take a few steps into a field of wildflowers or stop and enjoy the wild roses or lupines blooming on a hillside. I cannot tell you the last time I saw so many flowers blooming at one time in northern Minnesota. What is amazing is that we did not plant most of these flowers, but rather, it is God's creative action in the world that makes neglected, overlooked, and forgotten places beautiful. 

God scatters wildflower seeds into the crevices of rocks, deep in the middle of the bog, and onto open fields. Oftentimes, these are forgotten places, unattended, and deemed unable to grow the food we place on our tables. However, wild flowers accept God's commission and beautifully give praise back to God and remind us that all things are made beautiful with God. At a funeral service on Saturday, a person proclaimed these words, "For everything there is a season and time for every matter under heaven...God has made everything beautiful in its time." (Ecclesiastes 3: 1, 11)

My prayer this week is that we not only take time to breathe in the beauty of the wildflowers growing along the highway, but we also ask God to scatter love and beauty into the hardened and barren spaces of our lives, so we too can bloom like a field of wild daisies. 

When I was a small boy, I loved bird watching. So much in fact, that my Christmas present from my Great Aunt Mary was a subscription to Audabon. In the winter, I would watch the chickadees, nuthatch, and jays at the birdfeeder while woodpeckers of all shapes and sizes would enjoy suet attached to a tall white pine. In the spring, I would sit at the living room window with binoculars around my neck and Peterson's Guide to Birds of North America nearby to help me identify all types of warblers, sparrows, and the occasional sighting of the scarlet tanager. In summer, not only did I watch hummingbirds at feeders filled with a sweet nectar, but I listened for the phoebe to sing, "Phoe-bee," the high pitch whistle of the oven bird, loons whooping it up on Shagawa Lake, and the low bass tones of the barrel shaped bittern. The fall was always marked by looking up in the sky for the v-formation of Canadian Geese as they began their migration south. However, my favorite bird was the rose-breasted grosbeak. 

Recently, I was thrilled when a pair of rose-breasted grosbeaks were spotted by friends as they pulled into my driveway. I was disappointed, however, that I did not see them. Several days later, I finally got a glimpse of the female sitting in the mountain ash I planted last year. Later, the male, with the pink spot on his belly, arrived at the feeder. For several weeks now, usually in late afternoon, one of them will arrive, then the other. As I sat outside the other evening, I heard their distinctive whistle, hoping they had a nest nearby. Normally, I take down the feeders in the summer, but Sunday evening I rushed to the store to get more seed, hoping they would hang around for a while. 

The past several years, I have gone to great lengths to plant trees and put up feeders to welcome not only the rose-breasted grosbeak, but all the many varieties of birds that pass by my window. In a similar way, Jesus calls us to feed the hungry, provide shelter, and be in loving relationships with those who pass by the thresholds of our doors. My prayer this week is that the church can be as welcoming to all people as we are to the birds who gather at our feeders. 

Yesterday, I visited some friends after church. As I got ready to leave, I looked out the window and noticed lilacs blooming. The purple flowers are not only beautiful, but the smell carries memories of my grandmother's apron, dining room tables, and church altars. The subject of trees is a frequent topic of conversation this time of year. There is excitement about planting a new tree and the sorrow of having to cut one down. Many of us have our favorite tree, and sometimes we even give them names. We anticipate their leafing out in the spring, enjoy their shade in the summer heat, revel in the color of their leaves each fall. In the winter, we are nourished by evergreens as their branches hold snow and bring comfort on a cold winter night. We often plant trees for those who have passed away. The tree marks a place and holds the memory of a loved one.

Several friends have been planting a wide variety of trees to renew the forests near the homes. One planted over two hundred norway, swamp oak, tamarack, and chokecherry. Another planted horse chestnuts, starting them during the winter in a garage. Replanting a forest is not only good for the earth, but it is a true act of faith. Afterall, trees take time to grow,and one may never see them tall enough to hold an eagle's nest, strong enough for a tree fort, or mature enough to drop nuts on a forest floor. 

Recently, I bought a crabapple tree for my yard. I like crab apples because even though their fruit is not as widely prized as State Fair, Golden Delicious, or Harlson, it does make the best jelly. I remember picking crab apples on a tree right in front of the kitchen window of my parent's home. Once, or maybe twice each summer, my mom would have me pick apples, both the perfect and the bruised, and she would make jelly. It was beautiful to look at and tasted delicious on homemade bread.

In so many ways, our churches should be like trees. They should provide comfort, joy, and refuge. They should be constantly renewed and replanted out of faith for future generations. Finally, they should bear a wide variety of fruit, celebrating the diversity of the harvest.

Today is Memorial Day. As a child, I remember going to the cemetery in Ely, Minneota with my dad on Memorial Day and seeing poppy pins attached to hats, shirts, and collars of jackets.  The sound of taps would be played as wreaths and crosses marked the graves of those who sacrificed their lives in wars and conflicts in far away places. Oftentimes, the wind would be blowing and rain would fall, but it did not stop the remembrance from taking place. Afterall, a few minutes in cold, wind, and rain for us in the spring was nothing compared to the sacrifice of those who fought and died in war. 

As a young child, I did not fully comprehend the meaning of Memorial Day. Today, as a pastor in the United Methodist Church, I am overwhelmed by their sacrifice. We must never take for granted that we live in a country where each person can practice and live out their faith free from persecution. Our Founding Fathers created this country on the basis of religious pluralism and then brave men and women fought and died to guarantee that right for us today. 

Furthermore, Thomas Jeffereson once said, "I never attempted to make a convert, nor wished to change another's creed. I have judged others' religion by their lives, for it is from our lives and not our words that our religions must be read."

My prayer this week is that we take time to remember. Remember those who have died so we have the right to worship the God of our choosing, but also remember to love those who believe or worship differently than ourselves. 

There is an old, black, wrought iron clock with the figure of a Viking resting on the buffet in my dining room. The clock came from my grandparent's house in Brainerd. Family lore says it came from my great grandparent's farm house near St. Joseph, Minnesota. When my parents died, the clock ended up at my house. The interesting thing about this clock is that the last time I remember hearing it tick or the bells chime was when I was at my grandparent's home in 1978. After my grandmother moved from her home, I remember it sitting on a table or bench in the basement of my parent's home in Ely. Not once do I recall hearing it chime! This morning, I was looking for a stamp on top of the buffet and found one resting near the base of the clock. As I grabbed the stamp, I saw the key to the clock dangling on one of its finials. I opened the face of the clock and put the key into the keyhole and turned, but nothing happened. Then, I gently moved the minute hand on the clock, and as it passed six, the clock began to chime. 

Immediately, I was transported back in time to my grandmother's house recalling visits from my childhood. I tried the key again and got the clock to work, enjoying the soft sounds of its action ever so briefly.

Yesterday, the Church commemorated Pentecost and recalled the day the disciples recieved the Holy Spirit so they could be animated to begin the work Jesus started prior to his ascension. Of course, this begs the question what or who is the Holy Spirit? I asked young children at church yesterday what does the Holy Spirit look like?  At first, the children and those sitting behind them looked at me with rather blank stares. However, after some prompting, we discussed ways we are able to witness the Holy Spirit: the wind when it helps fly a kite, when we are kind to someone, and the joy we might experience riding on the back of a horse. In the reading from Acts it says, "...there came a sound like the rush of a violent wind, and it filled the entire house where they were sitting...all of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began speaking in other languages, as the Spirit gave them ability."  In many ways, the Holy Spirit is not unlike the key that once inserted and turned, helps an old clock come back to life and chime.

My prayer this week is that we welcome the Holy Spirit not only into our lives, but also into the daily life of the Church. Today, some proclaim, "The Church is dead," but I beg to differ. The Church is only dead if we fail to embrace the Spirit and work to find new ways to make the Church, like a clock, spring back into life. Afterall, just like an old clock with a turn of key can once again chime, we are the key that can once again make the Church sing, "Lord, send down your Spirit, and renew the face of the earth."

 By all accounts, it looks to be a very delicious summer. After all, the rhubarb is up and almost ready to be picked. The stalks are a beautiful shade of red and the first cutting is always the most tender. As a matter of fact, I may go pull a stalk today, dip the end in sugar, and embrace the convergence of sweet and sour. Soon there will be rhubarb sauce, rhubarb cake, and rhubarb bars. Church social hours will be transformed by rhubarb muffins and rhubarb coffee cake. Of course, this is only the beginning.

Asparagus, another early bird, is already being gathered and I am eagerly awaiting its appearance on tables at the back of the church. What is better than porketta, asparagus drizzled in butter, and rhubarb pie? Snap peas and snow peas are arriving soon, best eaten right from the garden. In June, strawberries, raspberries, followed by blueberries will begin the season of fruit pies. We anticipate BLTs, fresh green beans, as well as sinking our teeth into a bright red radish.

One of the wonderful things about home gardens is that often what is grown is shared with others. Fruits and vegetables have a way of bringing people together at church potlucks because not only do people break bread together, but they exchange recipes and polite conversation. My prayer this week, as we gather for Pentecost and also confirm three wonderful young people, is that we bring the love and joy nurtured in our gardens into our sacred gatherings to help everyone grow in love of Jesus and each other.