Category Archives: observation

Lesser Lights

Vermont Night, February 2023. Photo by Dave Fredrickson

High winds and subzero temps kept us inside for most of the weekend, so it was with delight that we stepped into a beautiful winter night this Sunday. Planets and stars walked with us, with just an occasional cloud passing in between. Other than a few house lights in the distance, and the odd string of lights on one of the neighbors’ houses, our path was illuminated by what the night sky offered. The moon was still half hidden by the Green mountains as we began our walk, rising steadily until it was well above them when we turned into our driveway to head inside. A few paces down the driveway and the house lights took over, outshining the softer gleams of heavenly bodies.

I often think about the lights we create, the lesser ones that only shine on our little section of this universe. From my limited view, they are brighter than the much grander celestial lights. I am grateful for the light they shed, and for welcoming family, friends, neighbors, and strangers as they walk to our door. I am also grateful for the truth they reveal:

In the grand scheme of things, it’s easy to forget that what is near and familiar often appears larger than it is. And what is truly grand can be mistaken for a lesser light because it is beyond my own back yard.

And my path is illuminated by both…

Making Waves

February 4, 2023

Last night, the temperature dove from one to seventeen degrees below zero. The wind howled and turned tree branches into a percussion ensemble. This morning’s sun revealed in the snow a still life of what is never still: the breaking of an incoming wave. A wind-sketched ocean has taken up temporary residence in this Vermont valley. How vast is nature’s power to create through severe weather the same pattern in two places that will never meet.

I wonder if it is just such power that drives us to create such patterns. How vast is the power of the Spirit moving through our lives that we sketch its pattern in words and images. What is scripture, liturgy, architecture, and music if not our best attempts of giving future generations a glimpse of the pattern God has impressed on our holy lives?

Manchester Center, Vermont – February 5, 2023

And Keep Cold

No orchard’s the worse for the wintriest storm;

But one thing about it, it mustn’t get warm.

How often already you’ve had to be told,

Keep cold, young orchard. Good-bye and keep cold.”

excerpt from Goodbye and Keep Cold, by Robert Frost

Soon after moving to Vermont, I planted some bulbs along the front walk. Nothing special, just some irises and daffodils from my Massachusetts garden. Then I planted chives off the back porch. With minimal care, these plants will be thriving long after I am gone.

Still, I’m concerned. Lately, the temperatures have shot up into the upper 40’s, and the ground hasn’t remained frozen. With the recent move, I’m not sure if the plants can survive the temperature swings. Winter is nap time for plants, a time to hunker down until it is time to produce again. It’s a rest period, a pause before expending energy in the form of flowers and leaves. What happens when there isn’t enough snow covered down time?

It’s something I think about in my own life, this need for a period of rest. If I don’t take a break from creating and producing, it won’t be long before I cannot produce much at all. Everything has a season, and dormancy is as critical a season as any.

But what if I stop producing? What if a dormant season isn’t a season – what if it stretches to become a barren life? That’s where trust comes in. That’s where the wisdom of seasons is embraced, and the faith that a growing season will return. Or, in Frost’s closing words,

But something has to be left to God.

Impressions

Snow Steps

On a snowy afternoon, I took a right out of the driveway instead of my usual left, walking away from the cloud-covered mountain view in favor of the smaller scale quiet of trees and stone walls. No breeze played in the branches and all the houses stood silent. My own breathing and the tck-tck-tck of my boots compacting the snow were the only sounds overlaying the peth-peth-peth of falling flakes. In the snowfall-filtered light, at the end of my road, I entered a sanctuary as holy as any stone cathedral.

It remained only for a few minutes, bourn away by the sound of a truck engine starting somewhere close by. I turned around and pointed my boots homeward. Mine were still the only impressions in the snow, marking a solitary progression from home to unexpected holy ground. They would soon be lost, buried by the falling snow or overridden by tire tracks. That’s okay -such signs don’t need to remain once their work is done. The encounter, not the sign, is what lasts – an impression and a message: surely the presence of the Lord is in this place.

Amen

We do not presume to come to this thy table, O merciful Lord, trusting in our own righteousness, but in thy manifold and great mercies. We are not worthy so much as to gather up the crumbs under thy table. But thou are the same Lord whose property is always to have mercy. Grant us, therefore, gracious Lord, so to eat the flesh of thy dear Son Jesus Christ, and to drink his blood, that we may evermore live in him, and he in us. Amen.

I say it at least eight times in the typical worship service. Recently, I’ve been thinking of different ways of saying Amen, ways to help me mean it when I say it: I’m in! Sign me up! Absolutely! Thinking of Amen as a verbal way of raising my hand rather than a place-holding word to keep the rhythm of the service on track keeps me from thinking I am merely a passive observer rather than an active participant. It also brings to mind what I’m in for…

Do I want to see love transform this world into a place where everyone knows they are unique and sacred? Absolutely!

Am I willing to give up the partial identities that drain joy from my daily life? Sign me up!

Will I join with others to serve those whom Jesus loved – the poor, the needy, the desperate? I’m in!

And the hardest one: will I let go of my preferred way of seeing and acting in the world to bring about God’s kingdom? Am I willing to follow in the footsteps of Jesus? Let’s hope I can say with conviction and joy: I’m in!

Right Place

‘Tis the gift to be simple, ’tis the gift to be free,

’tis the gift to come down where we ought to be,

and when we find ourselves in the place just right, ’twill be in the valley of love and delight. Simple Gifts, Traditional Shaker Hymn by Joseph Brackett

If I hadn’t been walking; if I’d hadn’t been walking to church earlier than usual for a meeting; if I had set a different meeting time; if there had been a noisy car passing. But I was walking past Ye Olde Tavern on November 13th at 8:33am, with no cars in sight. For whatever reason, the universe conspired to have me where and when I was that Sunday. When I heard a dull knock on a tree, I looked up.

Pileated Woodpecker

[Birds of New Hampshire & Vermont, by Stan Tekiela; Cambridge, Minnesota: Adventure Publications, 2016, p. 69

In my whole life, I’ve spotted half a dozen of these startlingly large and beautiful woodpeckers – most of the sightings while hiking on wooded mountain trails. Yet, on a typical morning’s walk, in downtown Manchester Center, in the valley between the Green and Taconic mountain ranges, one appears right above my head.

After a few seconds, with a flash of feathers, this amazing moment passed – being in the right place at the right time is no guarantee of an extended visitation. But the moment was long enough for me to see where I was for what it was: a valley of love and delight.

I suspect that if I paid attention, every day would hold a right place/right time experience. Where and when else would such experiences be?

Free

Tis the gift to be simple, tis the gift to be free…

I am free to walk with my face and hair visible – and without an escort. I am free to wear a hijab. I can commune with God and neighbor in a temple, synagogue, mosque, meeting house, or church; I can choose not to worship God. I can drive across the country without documentation beyond a valid license and car registration. I can run for political office. I can vote. All these things are available because I live in a place that offers civil liberties as part of the rule of law. This kind of freedom, this freedom from soul diminishing restrictions, is a rare gift that is too often under-valued or not valued at all by the ones who receive it. It’s in its absence that freedom is seen for its true worth.

There’s another aspect to freedom: what I’m supposed to do with it. Freedom from various things is in the news all the time, but freedom for acting in ways that show love for God, self, and neighbor rarely gets air time. How I use my freedom reveals how I honor the gift that it is.

I doubt there’s a better time to assess just how well I’m doing with my freedom than right now.

Aaron Copland

Simple

Tis the gift to be simple, tis the gift to be free, tis the gift to come down where we ought to be

And when we find ourselves in the place just right, ’twill be in the valley of love and delight.

When true simplicity is gain’d, to bow and to bend we shall not be asham’d,

To turn, turn will be our delight, ’til by turning, turning we come round right.

Traditional Shaker Hymn, Joseph Brackett, Jr.

Right thought.

Do no harm.

Right Action.

Tell the truth.

Clean up after yourself.

Take care of God’s creation.

The basics of a good life are not particularly complex. Jesus put it this way: Love God, Love Neighbor, Love Self. That’s it: six words that open the door to a beautiful, holy life. Why do we do our best to make it more complex, adding unnecessary and often harmful additions and provisos? If I had to guess, I’d stake my money on another basic truth:

Simple and easy are not the same thing.

At My Feet

A Closer Look

If the sun hadn’t glanced off the field as I walked to town, I’d have missed it. But it did. Condensation + Sunlight + Vantage Point = Illumination.

At first, I saw only the sparkling. Then, the amazing variation in color and form. Finally, abundant and sacred life with its own purpose. A whole world of wonder at my feet that asks of me nothing but attention.

Soon, the winter will bury the field in snow, and these blades will crumble into the soil, making way for next year’s growth. It won’t last, just as my own life won’t. But isn’t it amazing? And isn’t it enough?

All flesh is like grass and all its glory like the flower of grass. The grass withers, the flower falls, but the world of the Lord endures forever. I Peter 1:24-25

The Drive Home

Manchester Center, Vermont

Friday, I drove from Manchester Center (Vermont) to New Durham (New Hampshire). The roads started looking familiar thirty miles before arriving on Birch Hill. This isn’t surprising: I lived on Birch Hill from seventh grade well into my college years. It’s been over thirty years since I called Birch Hill home, but it still feels like coming home whenever I’m on it.

Saturday, I made the drive from New Durham to Wareham (Massachusetts). Once the treads hit Route 24, I was in home territory. This isn’t surprising: I’ve spent the past twenty years there. It’s where my children grew up, and where my husband and I found life-giving work and play.

Today, I made the drive from Wareham to Manchester Center (Vermont). When I hit Route 11, the landscape and houses started looking familiar. I got a feeling of getting close to home. This is surprising: I’ve only lived in Manchester since mid-September. It’s where people will come to visit me, and where I will find life-giving work and play in the coming years.

I’ve had other places I’ve called home, and felt that same love deep in my bones when I drove back there. But I’ve never had that feeling of homecoming for three different places in a matter of a couple of days and a couple hundred miles. I can’t say why this moves me so, but it does. To find a single place in the world to call home is a blessing. I suspect finding more than one is catching a glimpse of this world’s true nature: holy and infused with love.

Wareham, Massachusetts