Blowin’ in the Wind: Roaming the Milky Way with John Adams

("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 or give me joy. I trust they’ll do the same for you.)

I’ve not referenced a movie before among my “Blowin’ in the Wind” essays, but I recently watched with Gail the highly acclaimed HBO miniseries, John Adams, featuring Paul Giamatti doing a nice job in the lead and Laura Linney a compellingly acted Abigail. It chronicles some of the interesting history of post-revolutionary War America, especially, what it took to complete the grand experiment of the first presidential succession. The series is quite long, so don’t expect to bag it in a single evening; but pick it up at your local library and spend several nights with some popcorn in front of the TV before warm spring evenings entice you outdoors.

Even though it’s probably fictional, there’s a lovely scene near the end of the series that grabbed my attention, and that I thought I’d enjoy sharing with you. Adams, late in life, long after his presidency and long back on his Massachusetts farm, walks slowly down a lane among his fields talking with his son Thomas. He is about 90 years of age by this time, his wife and two of his children have preceded him in death, and their conversation turns reflective. Sunset is past, dusk is deepening, and Thomas bids him turn and begin the walk home, as it is getting late.

Yarrow

Adams stops abruptly, thinks, and says to Thomas, “Come here…” His son stops and turns, and Adams says to him quietly, “I have seen a queen of France with eighteen million livres of diamonds on her person. But I declare that all the charms of her face and figure, added to all the glitter of her jewels, did not impress me as much… as that little shrub,” and he points to a small wildflower. (If my memory serves, it was a nondescript white yarrow.) “Now, your mother always said that I never delighted enough in the mundane, but now I find if I look

at even the smallest things, my imagination begins to 

roam the Milky Way.”                                                                     

…Your mother always said I never delighted

enough in the mundane, but now I find if I

look at even the smallest things, my imagination

begins to roam the Milky Way…

He pauses, then says very softly, “Rejoice evermore! Rejoice evermore!” His son looks at him like he’s losing touch, and Adams says with a smile, “Well, it’s a phrase from St. Paul, you fool! Rejoice evermore!” And then he shouts loudly with a jump in his step, “Rejoice evermore!” Laughing, he continues, “Oh, I wish that had always been in my heart and on my tongue. You know, I am filled almost with an irresistible impulse to fall on my knees in adoration right here,” and he gets weak-kneed and falls into his son’s arms chuckling.

As Thomas holds him up, Adams finally says, “If only my knees would bend like they used to!” He kisses his son on the cheek, and they continue.

That simple scene affected me strongly, a good example of what often happens to the Christian naturalist caught up to spontaneous praise by the most unpretentious of things. The beauty, mystery and singularity of creation is astounding.

So pay attention. Look for beauty everywhere. You might just also find yourself when you least expect it to be roaming the Milky Way.

~~ Rejoice evermore (1 Thessalonians 5:16),

RGM, February 28, 2016

From My Nature Journal: Where Waters Meet, They Always Flow to the Low Spots

Our little cabin in the big woods of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula has as its mailing address the small town of Watersmeet. Thirteen miles away, Watersmeet is the nearest town and the place where we pick up our General Delivery mail. Never mind that our place is in a completely different township and county (crazily, even a different time zone!), our mailing address is still Watersmeet, for which we’re grateful. Otherwise we’d probably have to travel at least twice as far to get our mail.

What’s in a name? Well, what might you imagine from a town named Watersmeet? The town sits within the south central Ottawa National Forest, a million vast acres of semi-boreal northern forest; its predominant woodland type is one called Hemlock Hardwood, as the forest is around us, speckled with diverse broadleaf trees (mostly maples, birch and aspens) and conifers (hemlocks, pines, spruces and firs). But I venture to say that this area is also one of the wettest spots in the ol’ USA. Michigan itself is enveloped of course by the Great Lakes, but beyond that, not an insignificant portion of the Ottawa is wetland – lakes, ponds, rivers, streams, marshes and bogs. Some might even disparagingly call part of our area swamps. Frankly, as I tip my hand above, I prefer the term wetlands, or even the more exotic-sounding words -- muskeg, as they say north of the border, or fenland, as they call it across the pond.

Thus, nearly needless to say, it’s fairly wet around there, and that brings us back to Watersmeet and its name. Curiously, somewhere nearby is the confluence of what is called a triple watershed. In that general area, waters will divide and flow three different directions. They’ll flow north to Lake Superior, the largest and most voluminous freshwater lake in the world, and thereby through the Sault and into the rest of the Great Lakes system. Or they will flow south and east to Lake Michigan via the Menominee, and from there, together with water from Lake Superior and all the Great Lakes, will go over Niagara Falls and out the vast St. Lawrence to the prodigious north Atlantic. Finally, other streams will take it south and west to the Wisconsin River, into the mighty Mississippi, and out to the sea via the warm Gulf of Mexico. A triple watershed… Natives and early travelers knew this reality very well, the place where the waters meet, and it dictated their portage routes. If I could find that general area, perhaps I could poke around a bit, spit in three different places, and have it flow with the rest via three vastly different, grand courses to the ocean deeps.

Parenthetically, do you know why it is that water flows at all, unlike most other compounds or elements? Interestingly, it’s because a number of the electrons of a molecule of water, the good old compound H₂O, are in a constant state of paying friendly visits to the molecules next door,

just as those molecules in turn are sharing their electrons with the various molecules of water next to them, and so on. I don’t understand quite how it does that, but it makes the whole thing, as they say, fluid. Amazingly, even some seemingly solid elements can flow, over time, due to gravity or other forces, just nothing as fast as water.

Here’s a no brainer as I get to my point, though: it doesn’t matter where waters meet, as long as there’s somewhere further to flow; water always flows to the low spots. No surprise here, the nature of water is to flow to the next lowest nearby point, if it can, always to somewhere else. That area of Michigan is only one kind of low spot, which is what makes it so wet. But there we are in turn over eight hundred feet above sea level, and the water that doesn’t evaporate must eventually move along to sea level.

Allow me to reiterate. Water flows to the lowest spot. The town of Watersmeet is only that point in a local sense; it must flow elsewhere from there, given the chance.

...It will not flow uphill to the 

haughty spirit, but only downward

to the contrite in spirit...

Did you know God’s Word is also like that, like water? That’s not my idea but God’s. And it also flows only, and thankfully, to our lowest points. It will not flow uphill to the haughty spirit, but only downward to the contrite in spirit, only to the one who is ready and open to receive it from somewhere higher up. Unlike the water near Watersmeet, however, God’s water never evaporates, but remains in constant flowage to where it is allowed. That’s God’s idea, too.

“For as the rain and the snow come down from heaven, and return not thither but water the earth, making it bring forth and sprout, giving seed to the sower and bread to the eater, so shall my word be that goes forth from my mouth; it shall not return to me empty, but it shall accomplish that which I purpose, and prosper in the thing for which I sent it.” (Isaiah 55:10-11)

Be encouraged.

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

Adapted for use here February 11, 2016

P. S. And yes, as the signs say, Watersmeet is also the home of the Nimrods; far from its common parlance, the Bible says Nimrod was a mighty hunter warrior...

Blowin' in the Wind: In the Woods with Wendell Berry

("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 or give me joy. I trust they’ll do the same for you.)

Some books take you where you want to be in the middle of a snowy winter, but can't easily make it there for the weather. Such a book to me is Wendell Berry’s A Timbered Choir: The Sabbath Poems 1979-1997.

Some books take you where you want

to be in the middle of a snowy winter, but

can't easily make it there for the weather...

It is a collection of short pieces he wrote on or after Sunday walks on his Kentucky farm, and it’s filled with natural images and passions, deep environmental respect, and an ethic that reaches out and draws a person into ardent embrace of the land. One reviewer says his meditations here "...express a rich personal spirituality and affinity with the natural world," and yet I find the same holy reverence in his fiction as I do his poetry and essays; cases in point: Hannah Coulter, That Distant Land, and, one of my most favorite novels of all time, Jayber Crow.

I confess I’ve always struggled with poetry, but, interestingly, A Timbered Choir is a book that makes it easy for novices like me; yet it also invites more seasoned readers to its thoughtful woodlot saunters. I wrote once before on Berry, and will do so again, but you can find my previous blogpost featuring him by clicking this link, which will not only tell you a bit more about Berry himself but also shares another notable forest image.

The poems are without title, only separated by the year in which they were written and then numbered. Here is 1995, number 2, the complete poem. Let it take you to a place of peace and thoughtful repose.

The best reward in going to the woods

Is being lost to other people, and

Lost sometimes to myself. I'm at the end

Of no bespeaking wire to spoil my good;

I send no letter back I do not bring.

Whoever wants me now must hunt me down

Like something wild, and wild is anything

Beyond the reach of a purpose not it’s own.

Wild is anything that's not at home

In something else's place. This good white oak

Is not an orchard tree, is unbespoke,

And it can live here by it’s will alone,

Lost to all other wills but Heaven’s -- wild.

So where I most am found I'm lost to you,

Presuming friend, and only can be called

Or answered by a certain one, or two.

Of course, for me, that ‘certain one’ can only be the One I call the lover of my soul.

And here’s an excerpt from 1991, number 9.

To rest, go to the woods

Where what is made is made

Without your thought or work.

Sit down; begin the wait

For small trees to grow big,

Feeding on earth and light.

Their good result is song

The winds must bring, that trees

Must wait to sing, and sing

Longer than you can wait.

Soon you must go. The trees,

Your seniors, standing thus

Acknowledged in your eyes,

Stand as your praise and prayer.

Your rest is in this praise

Of what you cannot be

And what you cannot do.

In the midst of what seems my constant labor, I’ve often found the forest just the place of rest I need to help put all my work into perspective.

I pray you’ve enjoyed these.

~~ RGM, January 30, 2016

P.S. Each time I post to my blog, I send out an announcement of such on my Facebook page. Frequently there, I will ask my friends to consider sharing my post with others of their friends or family members whom they know may also find nature an important spiritual pathway to God. Let me place that request here for a change: do you know others, whether followers of Jesus or not, and perhaps particularly the latter, who find (or might find) these posts inspiring? Please consider sharing my site with them, www.rickmylander.com. I would treasure nothing more than that these words be shared as ongoing testimony to the creative glory of our good God. Thank you.

From My Nature Journal: One Good Thing Leads to Another...

My grandbuddy, Wyatt...

Have you noticed? When a child discovers something that really catches their curiosity or wonder, they often look to their parent -- not as if to say, “What IS this?” -- but rather, “Wha…? LOOK at that! Do you see it, too?”

I often found this the case with my kids, nieces and nephews when they were young, and find it now with my grandchildren, grandnieces and nephews now that I am older, especially when we are outdoors. “Look, Grandpa,” one might say, “isn’t it beautiful?” And it might just be nothing but a nondescript moth, small toad or faded daisy. If it’s animate, however, and if it’s my grandson Wyatt we’re talking about, I can almost wager that he’ll follow this with, “He likes me! Can I take him home?” It makes me smile to think of this. He has even done it with earthworms, though I’m not sure what the signs of earthworm affection are that he seems to recognize so quickly… That doesn’t matter, though. For Wyatt and other curious children, the natural next inclination of discovery is often to share what has been experienced. For them, one good thing leads to another.

Again, the natural next inclination of discovery is to share what has been experienced.

It’s why I do this blog, of course, the enjoyment of sharing things I observe with others. None of it is rocket science; heck, it’s often not even good biological science, but there’s joy in the sharing just the same, as well as in the anticipation that another might find similar delight. I have no idea how many people are reading this blog, don’t trust at all the

accuracy of its tally feature. What I DO trust are the comments I hear from others, either personally or electronically, comments that tell me that something is connecting, that there’s something powerful at work out there, that others also find creation’s beauty, mystery and wonder a natural pathway to God. Sharing a discovery seems not so much to validate it, though there’s some of that, as to confirm its value in the heart of the observer, and to share something through which another may find similar value. So for me, as with young children, the next inclination of discovery or delight is to share what has been experienced.

The fourth chapter of the Gospel of John has a remarkable story about a seemingly outcast woman whom Jesus meets at a public well, a story that is one

of my favorites. The area is temporarily deserted, and it gives the woman and Jesus the chance to have the conversation of a lifetime. I won’t go into the details of the story or conversation, because it is an extremely enjoyable read for you to peruse yourself (John 4:1-42). But what almost stuns me is the eagerness by which this woman, perhaps shunned by so many respectable people for so long, takes a momentary break from the conversation with Jesus to hurry back to her town, Sychar, to share her discovery with her townsfolk and bring them back with her to meet this amazing man. Somehow, in spite of what she may have had going against her, even with all the rejection she had likely known, her first inclination was to share.

William Barclay says in commentary about this passage that no discovery is complete until the desire to share it fills our hearts. Do you agree with that? It seems to me that far too many seek to keep their discoveries to themselves, especially if there is gain of any kind in play. Maybe Barclay is just talking like an extrovert, a camp in which I find myself, though I’ve no idea if he was an extrovert or not.

Do you share your faith? I’m not talking the ‘four spiritual laws’ kind of sharing, though those laws are pretty darn good, and quite accurate. But, keeping it simple, like my grandson Wyatt  -- has your discovery so filled you that it cannot help but ooze out somehow in one way, shape or form? That would truly be one good thing leading to another.

No judgment. Just sayin’…

~~RGM, January 14, 2016

Blowin' in the Wind: Prayer for a New Day and a New Year

("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 or give me joy. I trust they’ll do the same for you.)

I ran across this lovely Celtic prayer several weeks ago, and thought it’d be a good New Year post. As you can see, it is framed as a morning prayer, but it could also stretch easily to fit a New Year theme.

Celtic spirituality focuses on several motifs, among them nature, journey and blessing. This prayer covers all three of these. With an apology for my inability to find its source, I yet commend it to you for the start of any new day.

A Celtic Morning Prayer

As the tide draws the water close in upon the shore,

These last hours You have made me an island, set apart,

Alone with You, God, holy to You.

Now with the turning of the tide,

Prepare me to carry Your presence to the busy world,

The world that rushes beyond You and upon me,

Until the waters come again and fold me back to You.

So often I hold too tightly to my belief.

May I plant faith patiently, calmly and untiringly

In the good ground of hungry hearts.

Blessed New Year!

~~ RGM, January 1, 2016

Blowin' in the Wind: Let Heaven and Nature Sing

("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 or give me joy. I trust they’ll do the same for you.)

I’ve written in the past on Isaac Watts’ great Christmas carol, Joy to the World, emphasizing the text’s nature strophes. (Click here for that post.) My favorite lines?

No more let sin and sorrows grow,

Nor thorns infest the ground:

He comes to make his blessings flow

Far as the curse is found!

As I mentioned in that earlier blogpost, the ‘curse’ is a reference back to Genesis 3 and the punishments Adam and Eve received in consequence of their sin; it is said there that the ground to be tilled by them would be cursed with thorns and weeds as they did so. That curse is now tempered by the Incarnation, where blessings now flow in more than commensurate degree to the struggle. Indeed, let heaven and nature sing!

Though Watts seems to have based his hymn text on Psalm 93, a genre with frequent references to a singing creation, I’ve been studying Isaiah recently and have also found there several references to a heavens and nature that sing. Take for example Isaiah 44:23 -- Sing, you heavens, for the Lord has done it! Shout, you lower parts of the earth! Break out into singing, O forest, all of your trees, for the Lord has redeemed Jacob, and will glorify himself in Israel. Or consider Isaiah 55:12, one of my favorites – For you shall go out with joy, and be led forth with peace: the mountains and the hills shall break forth into singing, and all the trees of the fields shall clap their hands.

G.E. Wright, the great Harvard Old Testament scholar and archeologist, goes so far in his little commentary on Isaiah as to say that one of the prophet’s key themes is his emphasis upon God as sovereign Creator, but it is simply “…the preface to the proclamation of God as sovereign Redeemer. He who has the power to create is Lord and Savior. The creation by God is not set forth as a matter of speculation… It is a means of proclaiming… his mighty acts in history whereby men [sic] may see and know his sovereignty.”

So what do heaven and nature sing? That God’s power and sovereignty have been manifested in a holy birth that makes possible the salvation of absolutely everything – every body, every soul and all of creation.

And that’s something worth singing about.

~~Blessed Christmastide,

RGM, December 25, 2015

From My Nature Journal: Ho-ho-hum...

Martin Luther said in the 1500’s, “The greater God’s gifts and works, the less they are regarded.” Such could be said of God’s astonishing creation gifts and works, to which, if I remember correctly, Luther was referring at the time. People would do well to pay better attention to creation, both its beauty and its care; therein they might find possible avenues toward greater peace with God, others and themselves. And that’s to say nothing of greater spiritual purpose, well-being, delight and joy.

The greater God’s gifts and works,

the less they are regarded…

~~ Martin Luther, 16^th Century

But the same could be said of God’s salvation gifts and works. Fewer and fewer in our western culture, which was founded upon the ethics of the Bible if not the Scriptures themselves, regard God’s incarnation highly, or for that matter, much else having to do with Biblical ethics or salvation history.

I’m usually not a doomsayer or pessimist, actually find the proverbial pony in the room of horse manure quite regularly. But I keep running into things that trouble me at worst, or simply mystify me at best, about our cultural depravity. This morning while checking the news online, I clicked a story about Pope Francis, whom I try to follow;  I like the man, don’t agree with everything he says, but still like him and pray for him. While reading the article, though, some video popped up featuring an unmarried same-sex couple in a sexual escapade, the dialogue complete with the f-bomb. What? I did not ask for this! I’m just trying to read the news. I turned away, but not before my incredulity kicked into highest gear. What is going on here? It’s no wonder a good portion of the world looks askance on the cultural exports of the West, let alone declares holy war against it.

Jesus, in a parable about two men who died, one who went to heaven and one to hell, tells of the one in hell pleading with ‘Father Abraham’ (the parable’s stand-in for God) to send a messenger back to his five brothers to warn them of their danger. In the parable, Abraham says it would be futile; they would disregard both the messenger and the message, remain unimpressed, ‘…even if one were to rise from the dead’ (Luke 16:19-31). Jesus sure got that right.

So, I know I have a choice here, one I am finding I need to make more and more often: I can remain in my incredulity about people’s disregard of God’s various gifts and works. Or I can do something else: I can be God’s person, during Advent and every other season, and seek to fairly and lovingly represent him even in the midst of that disregarding world and the worst that it can offer; and I can share my high regard for the works of God, both his creation works and his salvation works, as long as God gives me voice. Henri Nouwen puts it well:

The central question is: Are the Christian leaders of the future truly men and women of God, people with an ardent desire to dwell in God’s presence, to listen to God’s voice, to look at God’s beauty, to touch God’s Incarnate Word and taste fully of God’s infinite goodness?

Will you please join me in the latter choice?

~~ RGM, December 15, 2015