I”ve spent some time yesterday and the day before picking up branches under one of our large maple trees. I hope that today I will complete the task and be able to rake and then cut the grass under that tree. We’ve had an inordinate amount of shedding going on this spring, mostly because of the heavy winds of the past few months. Some of the branches could be mistaken for trees themselves because they are so very large. As I drag them to a pile on the edge of our property, I sometimes wonder what made them separate from the tree as many of them seem strong and not at all diseased. People would say that it’s just the way of things in nature: they live, are nourished by their root system and then they die – either from a weather event or just old age.
Clearing the branches makes me more aware of the gifts of the trees to our ecosystem and to me. Beauty, shade and release of necessary gasses as they breathe are notable reasons to be grateful, as is the shelter they provide for the birds. Interestingly, today the gospel is the familiar “vine and branches” reading from John that speaks to us of our connection to one another and to God. And that is perhaps the greatest lesson of all.
I smile as I read the gospel this morning (MT 6:24-34) about how God cares for the lilies of the field and the birds of the air – and, of course, us. I’m thinking two thoughts in relation to the encouragement of that passage as God has a team of helpers at our house.
Yesterday afternoon the sun was so inviting that I decided to go for a walk. I was pleasantly surprised at the mildness of the breeze but still grateful for the layers of clothing I had decided to wear. There were no cars at the golf course next to our land and the path onto the 10th hole – close to the road – called me to abandon the street and walk the quieter path down to the river. The grass had been well tended so that it looked like a gigantic blanket of still vibrant green decorated only with numerous pine cones dropped in areas inhabited by the gigantic evergreen trees. I walked along the river and it seemed the river was keeping in step with me; we were definitely going in the same direction. The silence was profound and calming. I stopped often on my way back along the winding paths meant for the golf carts to listen to the silence and pay homage to the towering trees…
Yesterday afternoon I was in a gathering where we were discussing change using a number of quotes on the subject. It was fascinating to hear the different reactions to the various quotes depending on our interpretations of how the words were used in the sentences, or how a little word like “all” could challenge someone who is uncomfortable with such determinism. It was a great, stretching conversation that pointed up the need to really listen to the voices of others who differed according to culture and life experiences. etc. when interpreting what was being said.
There was a very quick thunderstorm this morning at 5:30 outside my window: torrential rain and one blast of thunder and lightning. It was as if nature was washing away everything and readying the day to start afresh with life. It’s a perfect beginning for my day. All major events of my year (at least those I’m aware of) are finished, so it seems everything will be “back to normal” now, if such a thing truly exists! On my slow trek home yesterday through lovely terrain and many traffic slowdowns (not to mention a stop during the eclipse) I listened to a couple of “homemade” CD playlists that took me on a tour of earlier times in my life. It was a sweet remembering and an exercise in gratitude that tied the weekend up in a perfect conclusion.
In keeping with what I said yesterday about Chardin’s vision of evolution in the universe, today we have Psalm 19 in the lectionary readings. One commentator sees this psalm as containing “a grand cosmological vision of a vast universe, alive and full of the divine Presence.” In this psalm we hear the message that God’s word is heard through the natural world as well as in church sermons and our life experiences. I am always happy to read and hear others speak of the importance of the natural world as a conduit of God’s presence and teaching since I learn a lot from observing the depth and function of nature. Here is a suggestion for all of us, the busy people of the world, that might be something to try with the goal of opening us more fully to a deeper way of seeing.
This is the moment when, in concert with the Scripture texts about resurrection, the earth in my neighborhood begins to come alive again. I always say I would never want to live anywhere but in the Northeast of the United States because of the beauty and example of the cyclic nature of life that we see in the seasons. As I write, I hear somewhere deep inside the strains of a hymn by David Haas, repeating the words Everything will live! over and over. As I look out, I see the red that is the first sign of renewal on the maple trees. Soon there will be a red carpet on the ground and the tiny leaves will take their rightful place, having been “born again” from the sleep of winter. The psalmist sings the refrain: O Lord, our God, how wonderful your name in all the earth! (PS 8:2) Surely it is a moment to join in praising the Creator for such a gift and to recognize as well our own place in the creation.
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.