From My Nature Journal: The Hard Work Yet to be Done

Life is physical.

Speaking personally and vulnerably, this has seemed especially so to me with arthritis recently flaring up in practically every joint of my body these last couple of months!

But as a nature observer, one of the times that the physicality of life seems most pronounced to
me is at the change of seasons, and, though there are four changes annually in northern climes, it’s the change from summer to fall that astounds me the most. Whether it’s the eye-popping delight of green trees turning red, gold and purple here in the northwoods of Michigan, the taste of a good crisp caramel apple with peanuts, the smell of smoked fish or burning leaves (which have some similarities!), the honking of chevron after chevron of Canada geese heading south, or the tingle of early morning air already in the 30’s, the five senses alone declare the physicality of life. And this is to say nothing of that sixth sense: something in us actually sometimes senses the very physicality of change. 

And yet life is also spiritual. 

I wouldn’t blog these thoughts over these nearly nine years past if I did not believe this was so. Most of you who share these musings with me also find in nature a simple and beautiful pathway to God, though some of you might not describe it in quite that same way. God has created a lovely universe. The ancient Psalmist said it very well: “Your works, God, are wonderful, and my soul knows that very well (Psalm 139:14).” Yet, while holding precious God’s creation and committing to its care as its responsible ‘keepers,’ or stewards, it is of course not creation that we revere but the Creator. 

To me, these two simple declarations are to state the obvious. Life is physical. Life is spiritual. I typically write of elemental things. 

It is, however, as these two realities converge – the physicality of life and the spirituality of life – that deeper learnings and yearnings present themselves. Just as there is something in the physicality of creation’s beauty, awe and majesty that leads me to contemplation of spiritual realities, there is also somehow something in my arthritis for me to contemplate spiritually. Where is God when we are in pain? Is there anything possibly redemptive when one suffers? These are questions that have vexed many through the eons, and the answer that God is right there with us in our pain, while true, is not always that satisfying. 

Covid-19 has ravaged the world these past eighteen months, and the flourishing of variants present anew the prospect that we are not quite beating this thing as we had anticipated. The work that is still before us in our country to address racial conciliation and righteousness is as daunting as it is necessary. Our hyper-charged political climate and its absence of civil discourse has become such that the commonweal is neither common nor well. Each of these will require tremendous physical and emotional sacrifices and effort to overcome. And yet none of that can begin to be accomplished without the work of the spirit, both the God-given human spirit and the Holy Spirit, calling upon the mercy of God to empower our most creative spiritual resources. The physical beauty of God’s creation can belie the ugliness of the challenges we face, can play a part in its healing.

But we need the holy. And we need to remember, as Anne Lamott said in a recent National Geographic article, “The holy is not a spectacle… It is more often felt in small graces and blessings, although you do have to be paying attention to catch the momentousness. It’s around us, above us, below us and inside us all the time. It’s here, but often we’re not. Life wants to keep reminding us of its sacred self, but we have to open our eyes and hearts.”

Let’s put all of our resources to work, both physical and spiritual, to meet the challenges before us. 

~~ RGM, September 28, 2021 

From My Nature Journal: Lament

I wrote a blog entry five days ago I had planned to post today. But then all hell broke loose in Minneapolis where we are temporarily living and working, sparked by yet another fatal incident of white on black police brutality. Peaceful protests immediately abounded, but, very quickly, and of course in the cloak of darkness (the typical timing of the prince of darkness), nearby districts exploded in rage. The city weeps. Our nation, already brought to its knees with the rest of the world by the coronavirus, has also erupted both in protest peaceful and fury crazed.

It makes my intended entry seem somewhat untimely today. The entry is certainly not inappropriate to the moment, as it is on the subject of respite, something we are also deeply in need of these days, but we can get to that later, perhaps next week. For now, it is just a time to lament.

My heart is too broken to carefully write at length about lament right now, so may I just call it out? Briefly?

Psalm 77 has it this way: My cry goes to God! Indeed, I cry to God for help, and for him to listen to me. In the day of my trouble I sought the Lord. My hand was stretched out in the night, and didn’t get tired. My soul refused to be comforted. I remember God, and I groan. I complain, and my spirit is overwhelmed. Selah… My spirit diligently inquires: “Will the Lord reject us forever? Will he be favorable no more? Has his loving kindness vanished forever? Does his promise fail for generations? Has God forgotten to be gracious? Has he, in anger, withheld his compassion?” Selah…

Yes, I lament. So does creation. Are you remembering that? Yes, creation laments. Creation groans, creation longs for the peace that is only possible through the Prince of Peace. (See Romans 8:22-27)

Creation laments. Creation groans. Creation

longs for the peace that is only possible

through the Prince of Peace…

Perhaps a key for us is in that strange little word selah. In both private and public reading, many gloss over it as if it were a comma out of place or a printing error. Scholars are not even absolutely certain of the meaning of the Hebrew word. It appears very occasionally in the Bible’s Wisdom Literature at the end of a section, and may have been a musical interlude. It may also have been simply a reminder to pause and reflect on what had just been said. Or done.

Even so, it is a selah moment for me. For us. For Minneapolis. For us all. Reflect. Reflect deeply. Bring any pain to the light of day before God. And let it result in a working for justice in the name of Jesus.

To the peaceful memory of George Floyd.

To the prayer that the Prince of Peace will heal. Not only our pain. Not only our failings. Not only our rage. But also our broken and unjust systems.

To the end that ALL God’s daughter’s and sons would “…do justice, love mercy and walk humbly with [their] God.” (Micah 6:8)

Selah.

~~ RGM, May 30 2020

From My Nature Journal: Making Sense of Things

The Bible speaks of things that are a ‘delight to the eye,’ a phrase that’s a good description of my experience of natural beauty. Yes, delight is in the mind’s eye and not the actual one. And yes, the first thing mentioned in the Bible utilizing that curious phrase was the description of the infamous forbidden fruit, not a great beginning for the idiom. But thankfully it’s uphill from there.

Nevertheless, the phrase effectively conveys the ethos of beauty, the privilege of seeing such splendor that it can almost ache. It is interesting to me that beauty can evoke such a sensation, not quite pain, but close, such loveliness that ‘it hurts.’ One lets out the same kind of “Oh…” as when they’ve just bitten their tongue! Only it doesn’t hurt like that, it’s delight… great word.

But sight is not the only sense that evokes delight in nature. Think of the delight of the other senses...

What about the smell of rain? Or the fragrance of lilacs or lily of the valley in May? Of desert sage? Of camp coffee? Or of hot sap in a northwoods pine?

What about the touch of warm sand on just bared feet? Or the feel brushing your finger across a thistle bloom, perhaps a sensation made all the more wonderful by the thorny visual effect of the rest of the plant? What of a small child’s grasp of an adult thumb? Or of a presenting breeze on a sultry day?

What about the sound of a small brook while picnicking? Or the whisper of wind through conifer boughs? The evensong of a thrush on an early summer night? Or the sound of distant but approaching thunder?

What about the taste of a handful of plump, wild raspberries? Or a firm apple on a break from an uphill hike? What of the almost eye-popping sweetness of honey, or maple syrup, or beloved brother Greg’s blackberry jam? Or even of a simple hotdog cooked over a campfire?

Yes, natural delights are not to the eye only. I have often thought, with my love of nature, what a sadness it would be to lose my sight. But the more I think of it, the more I realize there would still be much to enjoy.

Sight, smell, touch. sound and taste?

…Jesus said, “Blessed are the eyes that see the things you see…” (Luke 10:23)

…We are a fragrance of Christ… (2 Corinthians 2:15)

Jesus said to Thomas, “Touch me… and believe.”  (John 20:27)

They heard the sound of the Lord God walking in the garden at the time of the evening breeze… (Genesis 3:8)

Oh taste and see that the Lord is good. Blessed is the one who trusts in the Lord. (Psalm 34:8)

~~ RGM, from an earlier entry in my nature journal,

revised for my blog October 2 2015

From My Nature Journal: Comes the Storm

The trees cowered violently in a brawny storm last night, and this morning the power is out. I woke at light of day expecting to find downed limbs everywhere, but there is nary a one to be seen. I’m a bit astounded to know the beating they took, and yet see no sign of it today. Pretty amazing…

It reminded me of an article I read some time back. In the 1950’s, experimental, human-occupied, domed biospheres were built in the southwest, ostensibly for the purpose of determining if life could be supported in a sealed and contained unit, even used in interplanetary habitation or after nuclear holocaust. Anyway, when they were first built, people expected trees within them to grow inordinately large. Without wind to trim them or knock them down, it was anticipated they would grow unimpeded ‘who knows how big!’ Yet fairly quickly the branches became brittle, snapping and falling under their own less-than-modest weight, in fact much more quickly than in natural environments. It was then widely recognized (what horticulturists probably already knew) that trees need weather’s adversity to strengthen: even light winds create tiny stress fractures in the new, supple bark, small fissures and cracks that fill and heal naturally and allow the tree to fortify itself as it grows. Take away the winds and a tree becomes frail, unable to even bear itself.

…I am strengthened more by the challenges

I face than by those things that come easily.

Is this a lesson on the place of adversity? Perhaps I am strengthened more by the challenges I face than by those things that come easily.

One never knows what can be learned in a storm, God. Make me wise to always let pain do its work.

Consider it all joy, my friends, when you encounter various trials, knowing that the testing of your faith produces endurance. And let endurance have its perfect result, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing. (James 1:2-4)

~~RGM, from an earlier journal entry,

adapted for my blog July 5, 2014

Blowin' in the Wind: "Indescribable" by Laura Story, And the Enigma of Suffering

(Blowin’ in the Wind is a regular feature on my blog consisting of an assortment of nature writings – hymns, songs, excerpts, prayers, Bible readings, poems or other things – pieces I may not have written but that inspire me. I trust they will do the same for you.)

OK, this song has been around for over ten years, but in singing it again in church this past Sunday I could put off no longer finally addressing it here on my blog. Its lyrics and music are by Laura Story, but it was popularized by Chris Tomlin in his 2004 album Arriving. And given the unfortunate ‘flash in the pan’ nature of some popular CCM, Indescribable has showed itself to possess the staying power marked by a truly great song. Hit this link to listen to it while you read on. And here are the lyrics so you don’t have to watch them on the YouTube video (unless you want to – there IS some nice nature photography there but the lyric display is a little distracting).

From the highest of heights to the depths of the sea,
Creation's revealing Your majesty;
From the colors of fall to the fragrance of spring,
Every creature unique in the song that it sings,
All exclaiming,

Indescribable! Uncontainable!
You placed the stars in the sky
And You know them by name!
You are amazing, God!

All powerful! Untamable!
Awestruck we fall to our knees
As we humbly proclaim:
You are amazing, God!

Who has told every lightning bolt where it should go?
Or seen heavenly storehouses laden with snow?
Who imagined the sun and gives source to its light,
Yet, conceals it to bring us the coolness of night?
None can fathom.

Indescribable! Uncontainable!
You placed the stars in the sky
And You know them by name!
You are amazing, God!

All powerful! Untamable!
Awestruck we fall to our knees
As we humbly proclaim:
You are amazing, God! You are amazing, God!

Indescribable! Uncontainable!
You placed the stars in the sky
And You know them by name!
You are amazing, God!

Incomparable! Unchangeable!
You see the depths of my heart
And You love me the same.
You are amazing, God! You are amazing, God!

(not our photo)

All right, it’s a good song. The lyrics are strong, the music memorable, and it grabs nature nuts like me. But I’ll tell you why I’ve had such a hard time writing on it, sometimes even singing it: it’s the first line of the second verse -- I’ve a friend who was actually struck by lightning and almost killed, that left him impaired, and the first time I sang it after that happened I could hardly hold my composure when we got to that line. I had not thought about it quite like that before, and could only imagine what my friend would think about it. And every time I have sung it since I cannot fail to think of him.

Now, this is not a place for a full discussion on theodicy, but, for me, the song surely raises the issue. And with the new tornado season in full swing of late, and newspapers and websites eagerly reporting every single natural disaster that occurs around the world, it brings up the stark reality that nature is not all sweetness and light, chirping birds and spring tulips. It also has the power to destroy farms, towns, villages and cities and the people that occupy them.

When Gail and I visited Japan in March, it was revealing to us to see how intimately the entire culture lives in consciousness (not necessarily fear) of earthquakes, and particularly of the ongoing suffering resulting from the tsunami that slammed its eastern seaboard in 2011. Besides lightning, earthquakes and tsunamis, there are floods, volcanoes, hurricanes, tornados, straightline winds, mudslides, asteroids, meteorites, wildfires, avalanches, droughts, hailstorms, and all kinds of other natural whatnot considered ‘acts of God.’ One can carry this all the way down to mosquito bites. (Interesting how sunsets, refreshing rain, night and day, the miracle of agriculture, the wonder of childbirth and all the other beauties of nature are not spoken of similarly as God’s acts; guess God only gets the credit when things go badly.)

Does God allow suffering? He certainly seemed to in Job’s life. If anyone has ever been ‘struck by lightning’ without dying it was he. But it is significant to me that after Job had lost his possessions, his family and his health, and was in danger of losing the only treasure he had left, his faith, that God called Job to take a good look at nature in order to regain his viewpoint. When Job was at an impasse of understanding, God spoke to him with the reminder, “Was it you who formed this incredible earth?” Nature has the power to hurt, for sure, but it also, exponentially more so, has the power to heal.

There’s no question that suffering is a part of our normal human experience. Jesus himself said, “In this world you will have trouble and suffering; but don’t be afraid, I have overcome the world.” Elsewhere he reminded us, “God causes his sun to shine on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous.” And though these words may not bring much comfort when in the throes of pain, the inference is that a time will come when we will understand, and, as Job, see it in perspective. Indiscriminate suffering will always be hard for us to grasp, yet there is constantly One who walks with us “…through the valley of the shadow of death,” who understands suffering intimately and bears us on.

Nature has the power to destroy, but

also has the power to take us by a

hand and lead us back to God…

So do I actually believe God has “…told every lightning bolt where it should go?” I guess I do. Nature has the power to destroy, but it also has the power to take us by a hand and lead us back to God when we have experienced destruction in our lives. It’s a double-edged sword to be sure, but it cuts way more gently from one side. Time and again, far more often than not, nature will redeem us from our grief.

And the song? Though I still think of my friend, it doesn’t trouble me any longer to

 sing passionately every single line.                       

~~RGM, May 3, 2014