Sermons/Reflections

When people first discover Tikkun Farm they often ask me “What do you produce?” They want to know what kind of vegetables we grow, or if we sell our chickens.

But we are not that kind of farm. Our mission is healing. Repair. We strive to create experiences of belonging.

Our mission is similar to any spiritual community. We hope people who come to our farm come to know they are beloved. But when most people come to our farm for the first time, that is not what they are looking for.

Most people who come are hungry. They are looking for food. Much of Tikkun Farm’s work feeds people. About 300 families a week shop in our Free Market which provides food support to about 45,00 people a year. Most of the youth in our job training program come from food insecure homes. We feed them two meals a day. We try to offer a cooking on a budget class four times a year, to teach heads of households how to prepare good meals using ingredients they can get for free from our free market.

For an organization whose mission is to create experiences that help people come to know they are loved, we spend a lot of our resources filling bellies. What’s the connection? How do we get from filling bellies, to healing hearts?

There is a story from the Christian tradition that encourages me as I consider how to help people on the farm transition from seeking food for their bodies to seeking food for their souls.

It turns out Jesus wrestled with the same question. After spending an afternoon feeding 5000 people, Jesus stepped away to pray. The next morning, when the crowd realized he had left while they were sleeping they got in their boat to chase him down. When they find him, Jesus challenges them. “You are looking for me, not because you grasped the spiritual lessons I was trying to teach you, but because you ate your fill of the loaves.”

Jesus hoped that while filling their bellies, he could also deepen their awareness of belovedness. But that’s a hard transition to make. In fact, it‘s work!

Jesus challenged the people of his community to engage in this kind of spiritual work. “Do not work for the food that perishes, but for the food fills your life with love” he told them.

To their credit, the crowd shows some curiosity about the work of learning about love. “What must we do to perform the works of Love?” Jesus answered them, “This is the work of Love, that you trust me to teach you about love.”

I find this statement remarkable. Our most important sacred work is TRUSTING we are loved. And in learning to trust we are loved, we learn to love.

I also love the honesty of this statement. It takes work to TRUST.

Trusting is not something we can “think” our way into. Trusting grows through the accumulation of sacred experiences.

We must invest time.
We must engage in practices.
We must “do” things.

I think of Jo. She grew up in a Christian church. She went to Sunday School. She became a Sunday School teacher. She would say she loved God. But she found herself spiritually restless. Wanting something “more” but not knowing what, or how to get it. Some people where she worked shared about a spiritual group
they had been going to every week. It was a big time commitment, but they loved it. They were learning to see Love in their life more and more.

Jo wanted what they were experiencing, and wondered if their community would allow her to join one of their groups. The next spiritual group that started welcomed her. Every week they were encouraged to share a “Sacred Moment”, a time when they sensed Love’s presence. At first it felt hard. Jo wasn’t used to thinking about God this way, looking for Love’s presence in her every day life. But it got easier the more she did it. She realized Love was in her life everywhere, she just hadn’t noticed it before.

This was part of Jo’s new “work”. Noticing Love’s presence in a conversation with her daughter, in the way a project at work went well, in the connection she felt with her partner cooking dinner.

Then she began noticing Spirit’s “nudges”. To call a friend. To ask a certain question when talking to her colleague. To go for a walk when she felt anxious.

Then she noticed how she felt better after her walk. How her work relationship improved after asking that question. How she called her friend just when her friend needed to talk about a recent doctor’s visit. As Jo listened to these nudges, and acted on them, she was learning to TRUST. This was sacred “work”.

A few months later, as Jo walked along the beach she felt “nudged” to pick up a certain shell. So she did. A few steps farther, she felt “nudged” to pick up another one. She picked that one up too. All along her walk, she felt Spirit “nudging” her to pick up shell after shell. And then, one at a time, to put them back on the sand.

When she shared this experience with me later, she told me, “It almost felt like Spirit was testing me. Seeing if I was listening, and if I would act on the nudge I felt. It didn’t seem to be about the shells, but just about doing what I was asked to do.”

This was sacred “work”. Jo was learning to TRUST in Love. Jo learned later, it was sacred practice, for a much harder work.

When Jo was little, her older brother had sexually abused her. It made participating in family events very hard. She had to “steel” herself to go, and then avoided being near him. She made sure she kept her daughter away from him. After joining the discipleship group, Jo felt “nudged” to talk to a counselor about her childhood abuse. It was hard, dredging up buried feelings of shame, fear, anger. She realized how much her current relationships, and even the way she worked, were shaped by her abuse. As she processed this experience with her counselor, she noticed she felt more relaxed, at home, in her parenting, at work, with her friends. This “secret’ in her life, began to heal.

This was sacred “work”. Jo was learning to TRUST in Love.

But then the BIG “nudge” came. Spirit wanted her to reach out to her brother.

She could not imagine doing this. Just thinking about it brought on an anxiety attack. In her counselor’s office, Jo practiced reaching out. She imagined how she would reach out. What she would say. What he might say. How she could respond. Each time she practiced it lowered her anxiety.

This was sacred “work”. Jo was learning to TRUST in Love.

Finally the day came. Jo called her brother. Asked if they could visit. She expected a hostile ‘no’. He surprised her with a gentle ‘yes’. They set a date.

This created a whole new anxiety. She really would need to see him. She practiced a whole new round of conversations with her counselor. How she would set boundaries so she felt safe. What she would say, or not say. How she would know she needed to leave.

This was sacred “work”. Jo was learning to TRUST in Love.

She called me the day of the visit. She wanted me to pray with her before she went in. She was in her car, parked outside his house. I remember it so well. I was driving down some interstate. Someone was in the car with me. I pulled over on the shoulder, and got out, so I could pray with Jo privately.

I thanked Spirit for her incredible courage. Her willingness to listen, even though it terrified her. For all the ways Love had been with her on this healing journey. That Love would be with now. With her brother. In the conversation. That Love would give Jo the words she needed. And her brother an openness to hear them. That Love would bring healing for both of them.

Jo sobbed as I prayed. And then we took some deep breaths. Jo settled herself. I heard the quiet resolve in her voice. And I sent her on her way in Love.

This was sacred “work”. Jo and I both were learning to TRUST in Love.

Later that day, Jo called me weeping. She couldn’t believe it. Her brother did not get mad. He did not deny what happened. He did not make it her fault. He thanked her. He felt so relieved. Finally, his secret was out too. He had lived with the crushing weight of having done this terrible thing for decades. Finally he could talk about it. He could apologize, without fear that she would hate him.

Their conversation turned to their shared childhood. Jo learned that their mother, in her own depression, and addiction, had abused her brother. And he had done to Jo, what had been done to him. Fear and hostility melted into compassion and understanding. The conversation helped set them both free.

This was sacred “work”. They both were learning to TRUST in Love.

This practice of TRUSTING in Love, took YEARS! Jo’s visit with her brother, was the culmination of many smaller practices that accumulated over time, making such a huge risk possible.

This is what a sacred life looks like. It begins with bread for the belly. Love meets our physical, human needs. And then invites us to a more sacred feast, that lives within us.

Jo’s practice of looking for “Sacred Moments” launched her deeper journey. She first looked for where Love was “feeding” her physical needs. Something as simple as a parking spot on a day she was rushed to get the grocery shopping done. Or the unexpected cancellation of a meeting on a day she didn’t feel well. Once she saw Love at work in those ordinary moments, she could sense the “nudges” that led her into a deeper healing journey.

We may not have experienced the kind of childhood trauma Jo survived. But our sacred journey follows the same path.

It begins by noticing Love at work in our every day life. Where Love meets us in our physical, human needs. This is where sacred trust begins. This is where we begin to see we are beloved. Only then can we learn to notice Spirit’s nudges towards the deeper work. Like Spirit asking me to write a letter to a person who’s relationship with me has been broken for more than decade. Or someone else feeling “nudged” to practice more financial generosity, rather live in fear they won’t have enough. Or a couple feeling “nudged” to call a counselor because their marriage feels more angry than nurturing.

This is sacred “work”. This is how we learning to TRUST in Love.

And when we act on these “nudges” and discover more peace, experience forgiveness, realize we are less afraid, or resentful, or full of shame… Then we are feasting on the “bread of life”. We have made the transition from bread for bellies, to healing for hearts.

This is the sacred journey. It’s a path littered with acts of TRUST, accumulating over time into the sacred work of learning to live in Love.

Questions for Reflection

1. When have you noticed Love offering your bread for your belly… meeting your physical needs?
2. When have you risked listening to a sacred “nudge”? What happened?
3. What experiences have helped you trust Love more?

“Have you rebuilt your house yet?”

The question always makes me sigh. No. We haven’t even broken ground. I felt great relief last Fall when we finally filled the hole in the ground where the last house been. The one before the fire.

I remember standing in the kitchen of the Milkhouse, on the other side of the driveway of our still smoldering farmhouse, asking our insurance agent how long it would take to rebuild our house. “Maybe eight months,” she said. “But for some people it takes two years.”

Oh, that won’t be us, I thought to myself. We will have a house long before two years. But here we are, two-in-a-half years out from the house fire and still no house.

“Why is it taking so long?”

That’s the question, isn’t it? It’s the question that comes after I answer the first question, “No, we haven’t built the new house yet.” And it’s the question I often ask myself. “Why is this taking so long?”

I’ve learned there there are different kinds of fires. There are fires that burn the house down. And there are fires that burn your life down. Sometimes they are the same fire. Sometimes not.

When my house burned to the ground, it took my life with it. Not the life that lived inside my body. But the life that had lived inside the house. And it took all of it. Not just my clothes, books and furniture. It took my marriage as I had been living in it. It took the community that had been created there. It took the non-profit as it had been functioning in the house before the fire. It took my relationship with my daughter. It took my understanding of my work in the world.

As I write this list I’m aware it can read like a tragedy. So much loss. But that is not how I experienced it.

After the fire a verse from a favorite hymn kept singing to my soul,

“When through fiery trials
your pathway shall lie,
my grace all sufficient
shall be your supply,
the flames shall not hurt you
my only design,
your dross to consume,
your gold to refine.”

“my only design….
your dross to consume
your gold to refine”

I experienced my house fire not has a tragedy but as a cleansing. Like the way a forest fire clears the brush that accumulates on the forest floor, allowing light to penetrate previously shadowed spaces, creating space for a more diverse and healthy system to grow.

It’s taken more than two years to rebuild my house, because the only house you rebuild in eight months is the same house you had before. To build something entirely different takes more time than I could have imagined. In part, because imagining takes time. First, it took time to realize I was not rebuilding the old house. Five designs in fact. Each one smaller in size, and larger in departure from the way the old house functioned.

Not a community house. A house just for two. Not a house for entertaining. An intimate house. Not a traditional house. A house with few walls, allowing as much nature in as possible.

It takes time to release old ideas, and ways of being in the world. It takes time to discover and discern
the new life after the old life burns to the ground.

This is not just true for house fires. It’s true when a marriage burns to the ground. Or a career. Or a nation. Or our health. Or decades of having our identity wrapped up in what we do: mother, problem solver, bread winner, hero, runner, son, caregiver.

Suddenly something comes along and burns our life to the ground. Cancer. A career ending injury. An affair. A bankruptcy. An election. An accident. A death.

And there is no going back. Yes, it’s a loss. Often a tragic loss. And, it can also be a cleansing fire,
that allows light to find the shadowy spaces bringing new life that would never have otherwise emerged.

In the wake of my cleansing fire some of what I’ve discovered includes knowing …

That I’m a writer.
That I am most alive outside, immersed in nature.
That I love what my non-profit does in the world, but it will do it better with a leader equipped with different gifts.
That my daughter needed to live a life way outside the orbit of mine in order to discover who she really is.

In the wake of my cleansing fire I’ve created a new rhythm that includes more silence, solitude and meditation. I’ve deepened my spiritual work with individuals and communities that needed more of my time and attention.

This month we celebrate the Summer Solstice. The longest day of year. The day when a ball of fire hangs in our sky longer than any other day. Some years this longest day shines like a beacon, leading me home. This year though, it has me thinking …

What’s scorching? What’s burning to the ground?

What have I been holding onto because it’s what’s always been, but maybe no longer serves me, or my family, or my community, or my nation? Might a cleansing fire be burning away the dross? Might gold emerge from the ashes?

These are my questions as we approach the heat of Summer. Shaped by my own cleansing fire, these questions empower me, rather than scare me. Strangely, they open me to hope, and creative possibility.

Maybe the burning sun, on the longest day, might be leading me home after all

My first lesson on forgiveness began my third year in Seminary. My 28th year on this human journey. Thirty years ago!

Every week I attended text study with my internship supervisor. We gathered with other pastors, and reflected on the upcoming lessons for Sunday. We discussed theology, preaching themes, our congregations, and our own stories. Our time together nourished our minds and our spirits. My first time in this group, Beth talked about the pain of her recent divorce, and how she prayed her way through it. “Every day I ask God to help me forgive him,” she shared. “It’s my spiritual practice, praying for forgiveness.”

Although she didn’t say it explicitly, I somehow knew, the forgiveness she prayed for was less about him, and more about her healing. Beth’s fierce forgiveness practice made an impression on me. I was not going through a divorce, but the painful ending of a deep friendship remained unresolved in my spirit.

Elaine and I became fast friends our first year in Seminary. We had almost every class together, studied together, took walks through Gettysburg’s battlefield, talked through theology, prayer, God, our marriages, which professors inspired us and which ones talked so far over our heads we had no idea what they said. As our first year came to an end we planned our second year’s course schedule so we’d be in classes together. We set a date to get together over the summer. Elaine joined me for a few camping days at my sacred beach retreat on Assateauge Island.

On the first day of the Fall semester, I looked for Elaine in the coffee shop, eager to hear about her Summer Clinical Pastoral Education experience, and eager to tell her about my summer at Children’s Hospital. I was stunned when my eyes found hers and she turned and walked away. As I walked into my first class, I found her again, and sat down next to her. She got up and moved.

As we broke for lunch, I caught up with her as she walked to her campus apartment. “Hey, Elaine, is something wrong?” I asked.

“No, Mary. Nothing’s wrong. Please leave me alone.”

Over the next weeks Elaine distanced from me as much as possible on our small campus. After a few more attempts to understand what had happened, I realized Elaine either did not want to tell me, or did not know.

My heart broke.

Elaine’s friendship had been a solace at time when my marriage to an alcoholic partner left me lonely. Her companionship as we embarked on this spiritual pilgrimage of Seminary had steadied me.

The disruption in of our friendship rippled among our classmates. Our class president pulled me aside
and offered to mediate. I welcomed his support, but told I had no idea what had happened. After meeting with Elaine he reported back that she had no interest in reconciliation.

I spent the rest of the year staying out Elaine’s way. In the absence of the truth, I made up many stories
trying to make sense of what had changed between us.

By the time I left for internship, my broken friendship with Elaine had become a dull ache. Beth’s prayers about forgiving her husband created a wondering in me. Would a similar practice help me heal from my broken friendship with Elaine? I wasn’t sure, and I was not ready to find out.

My second lesson in forgiveness came during Lent my senior year in Seminary. Two Lents earlier, I had brought an old childhood wound before God for healing. God and I covered much spiritual territory that year including shame and anger, but we did not get to forgiveness. Two years later, we entered forgiveness season.

Everyday, as I settled into prayer, God brought me into a prayer story. It began by meeting Jesus
in a meadow. Together we walked to where the meadow met the base of a mountain. As we drew close,
I noticed the entrance to a cave. Jesus walked beside me as we entered. The coolness of the cave
settled over me, and I noticed I was wearing a sweater. As I put my hands in the pockets of the sweater,
they found an old fashioned wrought-iron key. I wondered what the key was for as my fingers wrapped around it.

Each day we walked deeper and deeper into the cave. Eventually, we came to large open chamber. Standing on the edge of this underground room, I noticed a man sitting on the floor, shackles on his hands and feet
chained him to the wall. His knees were drawn up to his chest. His forehead rested on his knees. His hair fell like a dirty curtain around a face I couldn’t see.

Immediately I knew. This is the man who had hurt me years ago. They key in my pocket would set him free.
Jesus had brought me here to release him.

NO!

I refused. I sat down on the floor of the cave, leaned my back against the wall, and would not budge. Jesus sat down next me. He told me I did not have to do this. He would sit with me here as long as I wanted. There was no pressure or impatience in his presence.

Every day in prayer, we just sat there. For days.

I got bored. Impatient with the prayer. Nothing was happening.

I knew it was up to me for something to happen. Finally I stood up. I walked across the subterranean chamber. Pulled the key out of my pocket. Put it in the shackle. Turned it. The shackles fell away.

First from his feet. Then from his hands. Slowly he lifted his head to look at me. To my surprise,
I found myself, face to face with myself.

In unshackling this man who had hurt me, I set myself free. The truth of this astonished me. This is what forgiveness means? It’s not something you give someone else? No. Jesus wanted me to learn, we practice forgiveness to set ourselves free.

Jesus makes this point in a story he tells.

A servant owes his master a huge sum of money. More than he could ever pay in a lifetime of work. The master intends to throw the servant in jail. The servant begs for mercy, promising the master he will work to pay back his debt. The master chooses to offer mercy, and forgives the servant’s huge debt.

The servant leaves the master, and runs into a fellow servant, who owes him a small sum of money. The servant whose debt has just been forgiven, demands that his fellow servant pay him immediately. When he can’t, the servant whose debt has just been forgiven, throws the man who owes him money into jail.

When the master hears how unforgiving the servant has been he calls him back.

“You wicked servant!” the master says. “I forgave you all that debt because you pleaded with me. Should you not have had mercy on your fellow servant, as I had mercy on you?” And in anger the master handed the servant over to be tortured until he would pay his entire debt.

Jesus tells this story to Peter, who asks him, “How many times must I forgive someone?”

“Not just seven times,” Jesus answers, “Seventy times seven times”.

Why? Because we put ourselves in jail when we can’t forgive.

That is what Beth knew. Her husband hurt her deeply during their divorce. She would remain in a jail of her own making if she held onto her resentment and pain. So, she prayed to forgive him every day. To set herself free.

In the days following my cave prayer, I noticed my relationship to my childhood story changed.

For years I had imagined this man coming to my door, and what I would do when I saw him there. In some versions, I went to the kitchen to get a huge knife to stab him. In other versions I ran away in fear. Sometimes I had a gun and shot him.

After the forgiveness prayer, I imagined him coming to my door. I opened it. I smiled at him. I offered him a glass of water. I did not invite him in. Neither did I hurt him. He left. He never visited me in my mind again.

I had set myself free.

Desmund Tutu, in his book about forgiveness, says not forgiving is like drinking poison, and then waiting
for the other person to die. We do not forgive to give a gift to those who’ve hurt us. We forgive to keep ourselves out of resentment jail.

It’s a daily practice. Sometimes like Beth’s. Praying everyday to forgive a deep hurt. Other times it’s choosing to smile at the person behind the CVS counter who was not as friendly as we expected, and wishing them a good day. Or putting out the trash when our partner leaves it overflowing in the kitchen. Or taking a deep breath, and choosing to let go of a hurtful conversation with our colleague.

Why? So these moments don’t have the power to ruin the rest of our day. So we can keep ourselves out of resentment jail.

Sometimes though, we prefer to be in jail. We cling to our resentment. We hold onto being right. We wrap the feeling of being the wronged around us like a comforting woobie. That’s ok. Jesus understands how attached we can become to our wounds. How hard it is to let them go. He’s glad to sit with us, and wait.
No pressure. No impatience. Just loving presence.

And when we’re ready, Jesus reminds us. We hold the key to setting ourselves free. It’s called forgiveness.

At the end of my senior year in Seminary Elaine called me. Would I be willing to meet her?

Yes. I was curious why this sudden interest in connecting.

We met. I waited quietly for her to begin. She apologized. She had no idea why she cut me off. She still didn’t know. But she wanted to clean it up. She knew how deeply she hurt me. Could I forgive her?

Yes, I replied quietly. I already have. Somewhere along the way that year, I had set myself free.

Are you in resentment jail? Have you been there a long time? Do you put yourself there frequently? Do small, every day hurts lock you up? Or does a large, old hurt hold you captive? While forgiveness can set you free, it often takes time, especially at first.

I had to clear a lot of other emotions out of my spirit, before I was ready to tackle forgiveness. Beth knew she needed to ask Spirit to help her forgive.

The good news is it’s always available. And it gets easier with practice.

Years later, when a boss deeply betrayed me at work, I knew what to do. In the days afterward, I walked and prayed. “Help me God, to let this go. Help me God, to let this go. Help me God, to let this go.” I breathed in Love, I breathed out hurt. In less than week, I could go to work, without being in resentment jail.

My boss had shown me his true colors. I knew what I could trust, and what I couldn’t. But the betrayal
did not hold me captive. I was wiser. And I was free.

You can be too.

The picture of black raspberries piled over a bowl of vanilla ice cream caught my eye as I scrolled through my Facebook feed. The caption for the picture read:

“Spring black raspberries. Yum. Raspberries are a great lesson in perspective. You first pick the ones that are most obvious. Then you think ‘that’s all.’ Then you change your point of view, and a great abundance reveals itself. A friend of mine calls these the “Big Book” lessons. So true.”

It reminds me of a reflection/poem by Elizabeth Barret Browning

“Earth’s crammed with heaven, 
And every common bush afire with God, 
But only he who sees takes off his shoes;
The rest sit round and pluck blackberries.”

I love that my friend did both. She not only plucked black raspberries, but she also noticed that her berry bush was crammed with heaven and afire with God.

The Christian tradition tells a far more dramatic version of this kind of sacred experience. One morning Jesus’ friends gathered together. While they were praying a powerful wind blew around them and they saw tongues of flame rest over each person. Then they heard themselves speaking in a language they had never spoken before. Visitors in the city who had come from different countries were able to understand the stories the friends of Jesus were telling about their time with Jesus.

While the differences between the experience of Jesus’ friends and my friend with the blackberries are obvious

• my friend did not speak in a different language
• she did not have a tongue of flame descend on her

I’m actually more curious about what they share in common.

So often that Christian story is told as if the friends of Jesus were just going about their day and suddenly were taken over by this profound, spiritual experience, as if they only played a passive role. But they weren’t passive. They contributed to this spiritual encounter.

It had been fifty days since Jesus’ died. For forty days they experienced his presence, though it was often hard to recognize him. And then he told them they would no longer be able to see him as they had been. But he would continue to be with them in Spirit.

He told them to gather and wait, and the Spirit would come. And so they waited. And the Spirit came.

They waited. They prayed. They watched for. And the Spirit came.

This contrasts with a different wisdom teaching about the Spirit. The night before he dies Jesus tells his friends, “The world will not experience the presence of the Spirit because the world will not go looking for it. The world will not recognize the Spirit when She’s present.”

This is the same wisdom captured in Elizabeth Barret Browning’s poem,

“Earth’s crammed with heaven, 
And every common bush afire with God, 
But only he who sees takes off his shoes;
The rest sit round and pluck blackberries.”

My friend picking black raspberries, the friends of Jesus, and Barret Browning share the same spiritual truth. Spirit is with us all the time. But we can miss it, if we aren’t watching for Her.

The Spirit did not randomly disrupt the lives of Jesus’ friends when She showed up in wind and fire. They had been waiting for Her. Watching for Her. Praying for Her presence. And so when she showed up they recognized her.

There is reciprocity in our relationship with Spirit. We offer our attention, and She reveals herself.

My friend picking blackberries could learn the spiritual lesson about “abundance revealing itself when you change your point of view,” because she’s come to know that “earth is crammed with heaven” and she recognized Spirit ablaze in her black raspberry bush.

We offer our attention, and Spirit reveals herself.

Wisdom teachers sometimes call this Second Sight. Being able to see Spirit’s presence in, with and under life’s everyday moments.

Peter Mayer, in his song “Holy Now” describes this shift:

“When I was a boy each week
Sunday we would go to church
Pay attention to the priest
And he would read the holy word
Consecrate the holy bread
Everyone would kneel and bow
Today the only difference is
Everything is holy now

This morning outside I stood
Saw a little redwinged bird
Shining like a burning bush
And singing like a scripture verse
Made me want to bow my head
I remember when church let out
How things have changed since then
‘Cause everything is holy now”

We can cultivate this kind of sight. Sometimes it begins in grief, when someone recognizes their mother’s presence in the cardinal visitation after her death, much like Jesus’s friends recognized Jesus’ presence with them after his death, though he appeared differently to them.

Other times we feel prompted to call a friend, and discover our call came just when they needed to hear from us, and we begin to recognize the Spirit’s presence in that prompting.

Or, like Jesus’ friends, we set aside time to pray, sit quietly, watchfully, and a sacred text, that at one time might have just been an interesting story about other people, suddenly offers us surprising guidance about a question we’ve been living with.

Or like Mayer describes in his song, we watch a weeping willow dancing in the wind, or the grace of heron gliding over the lake, and feel caught up in a holy moment.

As this happens more often, we can even begin to notice Spirit’s presence in the disruptions in our life.

A friend of mine had been traveling, and windy weather canceled her ferry transport. She found herself lamenting at first the need to change her travel plans. She would not be able to visit one of the destinations on her pilgrimage. Interestingly, in some sacred texts the word for Wind is the same word for Spirit. As she considered how Spirit might be present in the windy disruption, she discovered Spirit had paused her travels, inviting her to reflect more deeply on the beginning of her journey, before heading out again on her pilgrimage.

“Earth’s crammed with heaven, 
And every common bush afire with God, 
But only he who sees takes off his shoes;”

Spirit blazes around us all the time. She may not show up as dramatically in our lives, as she did that morning for Jesus’ friends in tongues of flame, but when we notice her, the outcomes can be similar.

The disciples found themselves sharing their stories of their experience with their wisdom teacher, Jesus. As others listened, they wanted to know more, and found themselves embarking on their own spiritual journeys.

My friend chose to share her black raspberry story on her FaceBook page, sharing her encounter with Spirit in a way that invited others to notice Spirit blazing in their lives too.

“Earth’s crammed with heaven, 
And every common bush afire with God.”

Spirit surrounds us all the time. She’s in, with and under our family visits, our bodily ailments, our walks in the woods, our conflicts at work, our daily meals, and the weekly laundry chores.

“‘Cause everything is holy now”

“But only he who sees takes off his shoes;
The rest sit round and pluck blackberries.”

Questions for Reflection

1. What practices help you notice Spirit’s presence in your life?
2. Where have you noticed Spirit in your everyday life? Where have you noticed heaven crammed into earth?