All posts by Johnna

I am a Christian educator and writer.I have worked in churches, denominational offices, and seminaries. I have a PhD in Theology from Princeton Theological Seminary, with a focus on Practical Theology and educating in faith. In 2010, my book, "How the Other Half Lives: the challenges facing clergy spouses and partners," was published by Pilgrim Press. I believe that words can build doorways that lead to encounters with God through the Spirit.
Advent2020, art, Meditation, observation

Robin’s Birds

1 Comment

[Robin Nielson’s sister, JoAnn, sent this card – a Unicef offering of beauty that also provides funds for needy children all around the world. It is beautiful in form and intent.]

They land lightly on my window sills, waiting for their turn at the backyard feeder. Sparrows, cardinals, chickadees, finches, and the occasional flock of grackles, crows, or seagulls offer a glimpse of poetry in motion for the paltry cost of a few seeds and bread crusts. Spend  $1.89  for suet and woodpeckers visit; last week, a northern flicker appeared – something I’d never seen before but hope to see again.

They squawk and squabble, they crowd each other out, but they are also grace incarnate. Birds are living symbols of faith, found in the pages of sacred writings throughout the world. The Spirit and peace – a dove. Wisdom an owl. Darkness a raven and death a crow. A cardinal is a messenger from God, or a departed loved one’s spirit. They connect this mundane life of ours to something soaring, something transcendent.

A Christmas card of birds is a reminder that the spiritual life is as real, as common, and as extraordinary as the flight of birds.

Thank you for sharing your card, Robin.

art, Meditation, observation

Mysterious, Mystic, Mundane

Leave a comment

If you take a close look, just right of the tree and above the glittery snow,  square figures emerge from the muted, misted background. Three rooftops, covered in snow. Just off the second and third boughs from the tree base, as if these two branches are pointing to it, is another square. Nestled against the dark green of background forest, it’s another building made by human hands. All these are too geometrically precise to be natural, and none of these are particularly impressive. But seen from this high vantage point, they show how ordinary human things are surrounded by beauty and clothed in misty mystery.

I think this is what meditation is about: seeing how our ordinary dwelling places, our ordinary lives, are part of something extraordinary and beautiful. In this God-related and God-created space, we live our lives. Unless we take the time and get some distance, we may miss the wondrousness of it all. The floor slushed by boots, the drafty cellar stairs, the walls and ceilings in need of a good scrubbing and painting. It’s so easy to believe that these are what is true and real. And they are real – just not definitive.

One does not and cannot cancel out the other. How extraordinary.

art, Meditation, observation

Worth the Effort?

2 Comments

This card appears to be a reworked photograph; the background is muted as if wrapped in fog coming off the snow. The foreground tree and snow are covered in glitter-infused powder. I doubt my photo catches the sparkle of the snow on the ground and tree boughs – subtly made of blue, green, and palest pink glitter. It’s a wonderful rendering of something I’ve experienced many times: snow beauty.

But coming upon such a vista isn’t without effort. Snow shoes, skis, boots, and a willingness to leave the warmth of home and the plowed and sanded sidewalks are required. The cost includes cold nose and toes, tired legs, elevated heartbeat, and steaming breath. Is it worth it for a momentary glimpse of nature’s glory?

To find myself in the middle of breathtaking beauty. To see this old familiar world made new by a snowy prism blanket. To be reminded that adverse conditions bring gifts nothing else can.

Do I believe it’s worth the effort – this momentary glimpse of beauty? Absolutely. How about you?

 

 

art, Meditation, observation

Accident

Leave a comment

It’s a bit faded, but that’s to be expected after twenty three years. The message on the inside was just these handwritten words: Don’t know why we thought of you when we saw this card? I doubt Rick and Carol Lansill had any idea how much I’d enjoy it. It’s amazing how something so small, bought on a whim, could have such an impact.

It’s not just the humor I love, or the what I assume was a fashion photo repurposed. Or that it’s printed on recycled paper. Or that when dear friends saw someone plotting, I came to mind. It’s the notion that what might appear to be an accident might really be by design.

These days, this card comes to mind every morning, when I say this line of Philaret’s morning prayer: In unforeseen events, help me to remember that all things are sent by thee. 

I’m not one for ascribing to God every little thing, good or difficult, that happens to me. But as I get older, I am convinced that whatever comes my way has the potential to draw me closer to God, and to an even deeper sense of love and compassion for my neighbor. Most especially those things that appear accidental.

 

art, Biblical Reflection, Meditation, observation

A Light in the Window

6 Comments

The true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world. John 1:9

From Thanksgiving through New Year’s Day, taking an evening stroll through my neighborhood is a joy. Christmas tree lights offer color and sparkle. Santas and snowmen – light-up, blow-up, and of the hard plastic variety – populate front yards. Wreaths and garlands hang on doors, illuminated by porch lights. And in the windows, candles.

Most of those things disappear within a few days of December giving way to January. But this year, the candles remain. As if by some spiritual consensus, the candles shine through window panes still, offering light in the darkness for whomever happens to pass by. These candles don’t offer light selectively, they illuminate the path for everyone and anyone.

What a simple, faithful truth these candles reveal: the true light is for everyone, no exceptions. You, me, and everyone else. If that isn’t a sure sign of hope and love, what is?

art, observation

Eco-Commute

Leave a comment

Three tiny bikers on a metal rail, pedaling on their way to work – or so I imagine. Wrapped up in their own little world but aware enough to take into consideration air quality and cardiac health, they push the pedals up and down. Going forward, do they notice one of earth’s greatest natural wonders just to the right of their handlebars?

On my more cynical days, I’d say this postcard is an accurate depiction of human existence: aware and perhaps even considerate in the small sense, but oblivious to the vastness of the universe we inhabit in the biggest sense. That’s a John Calvin, radical sinfulness slant.

On my better days, I’d say this postcard is an accurate depiction of human existence: knowing how small we are in this vast and glorious cosmos, and taking what steps we can to bless our little part of it. The grandeur of the universe is just beyond our handlebars, and we get the chance to see it every day in something as simple as a bicycle ride to work.

Here’s to better days.

 

art, Education, observation

House of Cards

Leave a comment

They come and go, tucked in envelopes or tucked under the ribbons of a present: cards. Birthday, Sympathy, New Baby!, Anniversary, Thank You, Thinking of You, and so many more arrive at and depart from this place I call home. Sure, some are forgettable in word and image; but others are amazing – wisdom and beauty in words and individually wrapped art work. They brighten my bookcases and hold my place in books. I thought I’d share some of my favorites with you.

Feel free to do the same with me!

Uncategorized

Shrouded: Remembering Ben Suddard, the Elder

2 Comments

I was beyond the reach of data and cell towers, so I didn’t find out until hours later. Yesterday, two weeks after his son died, Ben the Elder followed him into God’s embrace.

Ben and his wife were my family’s first neighbors in Wareham, 2002. Quiet, gentle, with the gift of repairing broken things, his skill and humor graced the world. He and his son built the cedar benches that offer rest in the library’s learning garden, a study in sturdiness and simple beauty. Like him, they have made life better without fanfare or flash.

Yesterday, I stood with my husband and younger son on the lower part of Mount Greylock. Flurry clouds obscured a distant mountain, offering only the barest glimpse of a dim and smoky outline. All three of us knew it was there, not one of us could discern its true form. Yet, the mountain, even shrouded, was as real and solid as anything on this earth.

I see Ben in that image, in that moment in time. Quiet. Solid. His life not lost, merely obscured by my limited vision and vantage point.

Uncategorized

The Take Down

2 Comments

The multi-colored lights still hang off the front edge of my roof, and nets of the same still blanket the shrubs below. My Christmas tree is up, and there are still things underneath it. Most of the gifts have found their way into their permanent places, but a few boxes and baskets remain – to the great delight of my two cats who relish sleeping in them. That this is the state of things on January 15th is strange – Christmas is usually stowed in the attic a couple of days past Epiphany.

But this isn’t a usual year. Pandemic deaths and hospitalizations are at record levels; there are thousands of National Guard soldiers camped in the Capitol, and a threat of violence hangs over the capitols of all fifty states; the deaths of my father-in-law and a dear friend brought loss and sharp-edged grief into our everyday lives which cannot be marked and lessened with shared prayers, services, and meals. There’s a heaviness to this time weighing on my body, mind, and soul: is that why the tree still stands? I can’t say.

This morning, I opened the curtains, fed the cats, and greeted the light of a new day. Looking at the tree and all the work it represents, something shifted. Instead of boxing ornaments and lights as quickly as possible, I’m going to turn the take down into a spiritual practice. I’ll remember the Christmases past that each ornament represents; I’ll remember holiday gatherings with my father-in-law, Bob, and be grateful for his presence. I’ll recall the Christmas day that Ben and his wife Lena dropped by – and the laughs we shared over the mess of Matchboxes, Legos, wrapping paper, and ribbon that surrounded us. When all the trappings and trimmings of Christmas 2020 are gone, I’ll do something I haven’t had the heart to do yet: give Bob and Ben back to God with love and gratitude.

As for life beyond my own door: I can’t cure the pandemic, but I can certainly make sure I’m doing my part to lessen its damage; I can’t prevent mob violence, but I can do my part to act firmly and wisely, and avoid embittering and embarrassing others.

Love God, love self, and love neighbor. It shouldn’t surprise me that it comes down to this once again. But sometimes, it does.

Meditation, observation

Vantage Point

2 Comments

Yesterday, my son and I took a walk on a local Land Trust trail. Half a mile through the leafy trek, we found ourselves standing on one side of what used to be a train bridge. The bridge itself was nothing but a few re-barred pilings jutting out of a slow-moving stream. A trail sign informed us that we were on the remains of a passenger line that stopped carrying riders in 1953. Ahead of us, a straight tunnel through the pines with no visible end; behind us, the fallen pine needles a red carpet hallway stretching through the woods. We were standing in a one-point perspective painting incarnate.

When we looked right, marsh grass divided the stream, obscuring whatever lay beyond the immediate hundred yards. I195 spanned the water a hundred yards and a glance to the left. Cars flashed across the bridge, their drivers as unaware of this old train line as they were of our presence on it.

A short drive and a walk through the woods: a serene path, railroad history, marshland life, and modern transportation all visible from a single spot. This vantage point offered something unique, something that couldn’t be found anywhere else: the gift of being in a particular place, at a particular time, with a particular companion.

What a moment of grace and peace, offering strength to face these politically and pandemically challenging days.