I clicked on my phone this morning to see what time it was and was greeted with a Washington Post article on climate change, the result of a wide-ranging study with dire predictions. If I had harbored any hesitations about the legitimacy of such news, they would certainly have been quelled by the scholarship of the report. For me, however, it was just more evidence of what has been patently obvious over several years of watching what is happening to Earth, our Mother. The clearest conclusion in the study is that humans are responsible for the underlying causes of much of what is happening and it is up to us to work toward reform in our use and abuse of the goods of the earth.
As I read, I heard Psalm 19 echoing in my head and heart and I was struck by a question forming in response. Listen, please!
The heavens declare the glory of God and the skies proclaim the work of God’s hands. Day after day they pour forth speech; night after night they reveal knowledge. They have no speech; they use no words; no sound is heard from them. Yet their voice goes out into all the earth, their words to the end of the world…(vs. 1-4)
Are we listening?
As the temperature struggled to get up to 60 degrees (F) yesterday, I walked outside and noticed also that it was time to cut back plants that had flowered so beautifully, yet briefly, earlier in the summer. It feels already as if the autumn is upon us although the prediction is that we may return to milder temperatures in the coming week, as is often the case – ironically – when children return to school. I feel as if being outside tending to the earth would be a noble and restorative occupation today.
Yesterday I was in a wide-ranging conversation about elements of a future world that would not only include acceptable behavior of all citizens but also be compassionate toward all creatures and to the universe itself. It seemed that we have a long way to go toward consciousness if we are, in fact, to even approach the possibility of such a world. One element that we saw as necessary was the responsibility of each one of us to move the world toward that goal.
The suggestion of a commentary on Psalm 96, subtitled by author Lynn Bauman A Song Welcoming the Holy One, is that readers experiment with singing rather than saying it because singing is a “vehicle for communication with God.” While this is the rightful presentation of psalms in liturgy, I don’t often think of it as a mode of private prayer. I just tried it – in the privacy of my own room, of course – and the result was less than stellar. I have to admit, however, that I didn’t prepare; I just sang it “cold” without thought of the meaning, phrasing, timing or cadence. (Hmmm…that sounds as if I have some idea of musicality. Don’t be fooled!) My attempt was quite timid, but I must say it had the potential to open the words to me in a more vibrant way than if I had spoken the text. Perhaps I’ll give it another try. Should you be moved to join me from afar, here are the words I was tentatively offering as morning praise to the Creator of the universe.
There are many reasons to celebrate St. Francis of Assisi, a man whose life took what we would probably call a 180-degree turn after a serious illness and became one of Christianity’s most beloved saints. We who live in this neighborhood of the USA cannot help thinking of Francis as we watch the splendid transformation of the trees – not unlike the life and conversion of Francis himself. From the greening of spring when they seem to be born again to the maturing in summer, reflecting the grandeur of God, to the flaming out in vivid color that seems to lead to death, they are a metaphor for his 44 years on the earth. We know that after the next few weeks of spectacular color – already manifesting in New Hampshire and Vermont – the trees will join the bears in hibernation only to return again after the long sleep of winter. Francis knew all these seasons in his life and praised God for all of it in the wonderful prayer that we know as the Canticle of Creation. As we pray it today, let us be mindful of our earth and the challenges faced by climate change, asking St. Francis (and Pope Francis!) to increase our mindfulness of the need to care more consciously for this, our home.
Today there is a different sound outside my open window, one I don’t remember hearing since the leafing out of the trees was complete in the spring. It’s raining, a steady drenching rain that makes itself known in the sound of its passing through those leaves on its way to ground. Oh, we’ve had showers and the occasional rumbling of thunder with five minute sprinkles but this is different; this is like a long drink of cold water on a hot day. The birds are silent, most likely hunkered down like all of us humans trying to stay dry, but the farmers must be – no doubt – dancing with joy. I’m happy for the farmers and the animals and the tasseling corn. I’m happy for people everywhere who are thirsty and whose water has not been polluted by design or by neglect.
Today’s gospel contains what is probably the most familiar text in Christianity. We know it as The Lord’s Prayer. (MT 6:7-15) Recently I listened to a series of lectures about the prayer by Neil Douglas-Klotz, a scholar of Aramaic, the language that Jesus likely spoke in his everyday life. I went looking this morning for his translation because I found it beautiful and expansive of what I have known since early childhood. I found first a comment about Aramaic, then a translation in first century Aramaic and finally, Klotz’s translation using more modern terms. I share them all here for those of us whose love of words affects the feeling level of our prayer and as one more way to connect to others on our planet who speak different languages but whose hearts are united.
