From My Nature Journal: All From a Knock in the Head…

“Yowwww!?!!!”

I was walking in the Michigan woods last fall and, out of the blue (literally), something hit me in the head, hard! Looking to where I had heard whatever it was hit the ground and had seen in my peripheral vision something roll to a stop, I found a large, fresh acorn. Maybe a squirrel had just clipped it and let it drop (or aimed it -- I have had that happen to me before with pinecones!). But the oak above was large enough to impede my ability to spot any guilty party nearby. The knock really smarted, though, and I rubbed my head while wondering if it drew blood. The tip had a sharp point, and the nut may have hit me from that position.

Thinking of Isaac Newton under the proverbial apple tree, and the alleged falling orb by which he brilliantly began to deduce the force of gravity, I wondered if there was anything brilliant I was supposed to construe from this occurrence -- besides perhaps wearing a hat when I walk under oak trees in the fall, or avoiding proximity to coconut trees altogether. So it set me to thinking. Why, indeed, do some trees produce large seeds like this, and others produce tiny, wispy ones that float on the breeze? And what is their essential difference? I decided to do a little research, and here is what I found.

In general, trees produce one of two kinds of seed: one has enough substance to give the potential plant some resources with which it can get its start in life, so to speak, and the other kind does not. Rather, the latter’s seed is released to find its own resources if it can. Interestingly, the tree that produces the first kind expends so much energy preparing a seed with its own resources that it doesn’t produce many seeds; conversely, the tree that produces the second kind, expending so much less energy preparing its seed, can release them by the millions. As Bernd Heinrich says in his book The Trees in My Forest, “A tree has only so much to give… It can either have millions of seeds, each with a tiny inheritance… or relatively few seeds, each endowed with a large inheritance.”

Cases in point: my assaulting oak compared with the ubiquitous aspen. The oak produces a limited number of acorns, dropping them in the fall with, of course, the assistance of squirrels. All nut trees, oaks included (and coconuts!), are of the first kind mentioned above: the entire seed contains enough resources to get it started even on a less-than-perfect patch of ground, even in the shade. By contrast, an aspen releases millions of cottony tufts to the wind, each carrying a seed so small it can hardly be seen. One can brush against my face when it flies in May and I likely may not even feel it, yet the ground might be covered in the down. Each aspen tuft and seed drifts randomly in the rare hope of landing on some hospitable piece of real estate, the one with the most suitable depth and health of soil, the most advantageous amount of sunshine and most suitable quantity of moisture to thrive. Infinitesimally few are so lucky, for, on

Aspen seeds

average, perhaps only one of the seeds a mature aspen releases in its lifetime will grow to fully replace it. (Think averages. If this were not true, northern climes would be covered with nothing but aspens.) Luckily, aspens have another thing going for them by which they are far more successful in their reproductive efforts: most aspens grow from shoots sent underground by a parent plant, and are thus clones of the original. It’s what allows aspens to be the first up after a blowdown, fire or clearcut, without having to wait for a parent tree to release its seed.

But I also found some other interesting things. For example, I wondered how oaks reproduce successfully if animals eat all their acorns. After all, they are a favorite of bear, deer, jays, squirrels and others. I knew, of course, that one of the ways is that squirrels forget (or don’t quite get back to) all the places they’ve buried their stores, and those left behind often sprout, with gratitude for the convenient planting. But in addition to this, I found that nut bearing trees don’t produce every year, and after producing very well can go for several seasons with no crop; this gives them a better chance of eventually sneaking in some seeds that don’t get eaten, while the animal, who has been used to feasting there each season, turns up empty a year or two and writes the tree off his to-do list. I thought that was pretty wonderful.

Of course, thinking about these things leads me naturally to think of Jesus’ parables of the good soil (Luke 8:4-18) or the mustard seed (Matthew 13:31-32). Each of these texts would offer me much to consider if I spun them awhile through my cranium. But the concept most clear and dear to me from this musing is a takeoff on his little parable of the dying kernel in John 12:24, “…Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains by itself alone. But if it dies, it bears much fruit…” We humans die as a seed, but of the first kind, like the acorn – with all the resources having been made available while we lived that would be necessary for us to sprout and live fruitfully again, even forever. The only difference is that we need to have realized and taken advantage of it.

Hmmm, all from a knock on the head…

~~RGM, May 12, 2016

From My Nature Journal: “Please… None of that God S**t…”

I recently had a conversation with a seasoned, career spiritual director whose husband is a Christian research scientist. As colleague spiritual directors, she and I conversed for some time about the nature of spiritual care with those who do not believe (or who do not think they believe) in God. It is something I had been thinking about for awhile. Her husband runs easily in that crowd, and since she and he share an active social life with his associates, many of them know what she does and I wondered about her experience in that regard.

Here’s a story she shared with me.

One of her husband’s friends who says he’s an atheist casually came up to her at a gathering and told her, “Please, I don’t want to hear any of that god s**t from you.” She responded politely she’d have no trouble being a friend.

Some time later, he and she were engaged in a conversation and it turned toward an experience he had had recently at the ocean shore. He was standing on the end of one of those

long Los Angeles-area piers, and it was surrounded by jellyfish, hundreds of them, pulsating as they do, hovering just below the surface of the water. He was completely mesmerized, and found them so amazingly beautiful, even ethereal, that it brought him to tears right then and there. Even as he described it to her he choked back emotion. “What’s that all about, Kris?” he asked. She replied, “I’m not exactly sure what to say to you, as I happen to believe it has something to do with that God s**t...”

Several months ago I spoke at a retreat

about nature as one of the many spiritual pathways people engage in a meaningful journey toward God. There are numerous reasons why nature can serve men and women in this way, and I shared several of them. One is the nature of gratitude: there is something in us that needs someone or something to thank, something bigger than us, whatever it is. Philosophers and thinkers, Christian or not, have long said that the need for a human to express gratitude, even if its focus at the outset is to ‘the fates’ or to ‘mother earth,’ is an important step toward the possibility of a more informed spirituality. That’s one of the reasons why I often ask you to share this blog with others you know, Christ follower or not, who may themselves find nature a critical step along their way to a greater God-consciousness.

Philosophers have long said that the

need for a human to express gratitude is

an important step toward the possibility

of a more informed spirituality...

Back to the man of whom my new friend spoke. I pray he is on his way to recognize that there is One constantly ready to share his experience of beauty, to receive his thanks, One he can find has been waiting for that recognition by him all along.

~~ RGM, May 4, 2016

From My Nature Journal: How’s Your GQ, Your Gratitude Quotient? Gratitude as an Upward Spiral…

I read this morning of something an author calls the ‘spiral’ of gratitude. Upon further thinking, it’s a phrase I find I like very much.

Of course, when we tend to think of spirals, if we’re not thinking footballs we’re first thinking of the downward variety, gravitational force being what it is and all; we quickly picture the proverbial circular descent that leads to a crash as object meets earth. I’m not sure why this is so, why we first think of the downward spiral, except that gravity at first glance seems to have a much greater hand in our daily lives than does lift. But that’s only at first glance, because absolutely every single time we move we are exerting an antigravity force. It’s probably also because most people tend first to think the worst…

Contrarily, it’s the upward spiral I want to think about. No, not the first half of a Green Bay Packers quarterback Aaron Rodgers ‘hail Mary’ pass. Though we have fairly few examples of such in the realm of nature (again, gravitational force being what it is and all), we do have at least one. Picture the soaring red-tailed hawk, rising slowly but persistently on the thermal. It’s an almost spiritual image, and maybe can help lift the concept of gratitude as an upward spiral to a spiritual place.

How grateful am I? Are you? Such a thing surely cannot be measured, as if there’s some kind of gratitude quotient, but it’s something worth thinking about. Maybe there should be. And though it can’t be measured, I do believe there’s a gratitude intelligence just as surely as there’s an intellectual, relational and emotional intelligence. In fact, I believe gratitude intelligence most certainly must contribute to the other three, and to any other kind of intelligence for that matter. Lacking the former, I shudder to think what kind of world this might be.

Some have spoken of the sharing of thanks as the important completion of a circle. It’s a tolerable image, but doesn’t that seem kind of closed to you, a circle? It does to me. It’s significant, to be sure, especially between the two parties. But what of a possible larger grace? What of a broader sense of shalom that might go beyond what only two parties may share? What about the potential for something we might even see as a cosmic joy that can rise to a greater Reality?

My devotional writer this morning said that, when seen this way, the exchange is more like a spiral than a circle, a spiral in which the giver gets thanked and so becomes the receiver, and the joy of giving and receiving rises higher and higher. Another contemplative theologian puts it this way:

A mother bends down to her child in the crib and hands him a toy. The baby recognizes the gift and returns the mother’s smile. The mother, overjoyed with the childish gesture of gratitude, lifts the child up with a kiss. There is a spiral of joy. Is not a kiss a greater gift than a toy? Is not the joy it expresses greater than the toy that set our spiral in motion?

With all of these realities in play, it’s now almost impossible to differentiate which is the giver and which the recipient.

I think it’s possible for someone to know

if a life of gratitude is being lived, if a

spiral is proceeding upward or not…

So, though gratitude cannot be measured – and pity the place where it is, the place where everything is tit for tat, reciprocity rules, the value of every gift is calculated and an accounting is always kept of who owes who what – I think it’s possible for someone to know if a life of gratitude is being lived, if a spiral is proceeding upward or not. Not only are thanks expressed easily and genuinely, but a larger gratitude comes into play, one that has the potential to save us from our greedy selves, one that extends further that same upward trajectory in which the thanks continuously seems to be rising.

I’ve written elsewhere that gratitude is one of the cardinal personal attributes expressed by those who find nature an important spiritual pathway. There’s always something in the natural realm for which to be grateful. Thankfulness is a marvelous discipline worth developing and celebrating, and an appreciative contemplation of God’s creation can help get us there. But it’s not necessarily only thanks to the Giver that is possible; think me not odd, but one can even be thankful to the gift for helping create the grateful awareness. If it’s an animate thing, one can be grateful even to it, and through it, to its Creator. For it’s all an acknowledgement that the earth is full of the works of the Lord (Psalm 111:2) whose good pleasure is that things have beauty. It’s a confession of faith that the earth is full of the glory of the Creator (Isaiah 6:3). It’s a testimony even of anticipation that the Giver has more gifts to share if we will but acknowledge their Source and receive them (Matthew 7:11 and James 1:17). In these ways, back to the image of the hawk on the thermal, the praise and gratitude keep ascending.

~~ RGM, April 19 2016

QOTM...*: Wendell Berry's Spring

(*Quote of the Month)

To sit and look at light-filled leaves

May let us see, or seem to see,

Far backward as through clearer eyes

To what unsighted hope believes:

The blessed conviviality

That sang Creation’s seventh sunrise,

Time when the Maker’s radiant sight

Made radiant every thing He saw,

And every thing He saw was filled

With perfect joy and life and light.

His perfect pleasure was sole law;

No pleasure had become self-willed.

For all His creatures were His pleasures

And their whole pleasure was to be

What He made them: they sought no gain

Or growth beyond their proper measures,

Nor longed for change or novelty.

The only new thing could be pain.

                        ~~ Wendell Berry

I have shared quotes and poetry before by Wendell Berry, one of my favorite writers. (Click here for one of those posts.) But I recently reread his A Timbered Choir, a collection of pieces he calls his Sabbath poems, written during and after Sunday walks on his Kentucky farm. I was particularly touched by this piece, titled simply 1979, III.

It’s an Eastertide poem to me, something of which my spirit remains full. Speaking of the time before sin entered our existence, before we even had need of a Redeemer, it tells the ‘blessed conviviality of Creation’s seventh sunrise,’ when ‘our whole pleasure was to be what he made’ us to be. But other pleasures came to prevail within

and about us, many of which could only produce pain. Inferred here in spite of them is the hope of redemption, the longing for a restoration, or a re-creation, that could also only come from Creation’s Creator.

But for me it’s also a poem of springtime. The young season here has been nothing but a wild one so far. It started out with a bang -- a foot and a half of snow on spring’s third day -- in a storm that was supposed to have brought only three to five inches. (It’ll give us some great spring wildflowers in our arid meadows.) But since then we’ve had wildly vacillating temps between the teens and even the 70’s, tempestuous winds in excess of fifty miles an hour, a little bit

of rain, sleet and flurries, and much sunshine. The snow is long gone, but it still seems there’s a battle waging between old man winter and Mother Nature’s summer. We know, of course, which will prevail. At least for now…

Through the days here at 6000 feet, the leaf buds have swollen and we’ve begun to see the first hint of green on the river willows and cottonwoods, always the first deciduous trees to show here in Colorado. But I find my anticipation swelling along with the buds, and it brings me back to the joy of the poem. In my mind’s eye I already see that spring sun shining through those leaves, and I celebrate the hope-filled images of joy, life, light and a re-created earth that Easter makes 

                                         possible. Read the poem again if you have time, and enjoy these 

                                         images with me.

~~Blessed Eastertide,

RGM, April 6 2016

From My Nature Journal: I Know My Redeemer Lives!

OK, I cannot hold this one back any longer, a great musical track for Easter that I’d like you to take a listen to. Years ago I became familiar with a song by Nicole Mullen called Redeemer, and, I kid you not, it makes me cry to this day whenever I hear it. Now as you all know, whether you’ve met me or not (if not, you’ve ‘met me’ through this blog), I’m usually a very stoic and unfeeling person. Errr… just kidding. I know I can be a wimp when it comes to music, something that, along with nature, is also for me a spiritual pathway to God. Always been that way and always will. Whether it’s Vivaldi’s Four Seasons or Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons, music can get me going and charge my spirit like few other things. And if music, nature, and a holiday like Easter all line up for a possible blogpost, I feel as though I’ve scored the trifecta.

I’m not certain when Redeemer was first recorded, but Mullen won Song of the Year and Singer/Songwriter of the year for it at the Gospel Music Association’s Dove Awards in Nashville in 2001. I became aware of it only when we either bought or someone gave us the Wow Worship: Yellow CD some time after it was published in 2003. So I’ve enjoyed it for well over ten years, yet I ask: When will I stop crying when I hear it?

As far as its nature lyrics go, they’re pretty simple. The first verse of the song reflects scriptures from Psalm 74:16, Job 38:8-11, 31-33 and Genesis 1:16-18. Check them out. Of course, with sea levels fluctuating over the eons and rising today, the texts are not intended as science but more accurately and simply as a testimony to God’s mighty power as shown through nature. And the music? To me it is breathtaking -- from Mullen’s powerful, crescendoing and decrescendoing vocals, to the beautiful harmonies of her background choir, to the grandeur of the orchestration. And if I may have a little fun with the music, her rendition includes what might actually be the most individual notes ever sung to a single-syllable word in the history of music! Listen for it, and enjoy. It shows some incredibly gifted 

                                         voice control.

But the song’s message as it relates to Easter? Priceless... I know that my Redeemer lives! That theme is addressed in the second verse, reflecting scriptures such as Luke 15:20, 1 Corinthians 15:54-57 and Revelation 21:4. (Check these out, too!) But it reaches maximum emphasis in the chorus: we have a Redeemer, and not only do our changed lives testify to it -- all of creation does! “I know that my Redeemer lives!” are words taken from Job 19:25-27; in the midst of his suffering and the unhelpful ‘guidance’ of his ‘friends,’ Job’s throbbing testimony in those verses is equal in intensity to Mullen’s in the song. All of creation testified that truth to Job as well.

…We have a Redeemer, and not

only do changed lives testify to it --

all of creation does!

I hope you’ll have time to do something today or early this Easter week: find a quiet, prayerful time, maybe even towards evening, and hit one of the following links to listen to the song while you consider the words prayerfully. Let it be for you a paschal prayer. This first link is to Mullen’s official music video without lyrics, and this second a YouTube recording with karaoke-style lyrics. But hey, you’ve got the lyrics here…

Redeemer, By Nicole C. Mullen

Who taught the sun where to stand in the morning?

And who told the ocean, “You can only come this far?”

And who showed the moon where to hide till evening?

Whose words alone can catch a falling star?

Well, I know my Redeemer lives.

I know my Redeemer lives.

All of creation testifies

And this life within me cries, “I know my Redeemer lives.”

The very same God that spins things in orbit

Runs to the weary, the worn and the weak.

And the same gentle hands that hold me when I’m broken?

They conquered death to bring me victory.

Now, I know my Redeemer lives.

I know my Redeemer lives.

Let all creation testify,

Let this life within me cry, “I know my Redeemer...”

He lives to take away my shame.

And He lives! Forever I’ll proclaim

That the payment for my sin was the precious life he gave.

And now He’s alive and there’s an empty grave.

And I know my Redeemer lives…

I know my Redeemer lives.

Let all creation testify,

Let this life within me cry, “I know my Redeemer lives...”

I pray you are secure in this knowledge as well. If not, of all days, wouldn’t today be a good day for you to do something about that?

~~ Blessed Easter!

RGM, March 27, 2016

P.S. If you’d like to know a bit about Nicole Mullen, find more here.

From My Nature Journal: St. Patrick, And Putting on the Armor of Christ

Saint Patrick’s Lorica, or ‘Breastplate,’ is a beautiful and ancient prayer attributed to the patron saint of Ireland. And with his feast day coming up soon on March 17, which isn’t just for the Irish, by the way, I thought it timely to share. Take this from a Chicagoan who was always flummoxed by those crazy St. Paddy’s Day revelers who insisted on dying the Chicago River green on parade day. Oh, those Irish…

At any rate, the Lorica is something worth much more serious consideration than green dye, shamrocks, bangers and the wearing of the green. But first, a few words about Patrick himself…

He lived in the 400’s AD (birth and death dates not known) and is believed to be the original evangelist to the Irish people. Kidnapped from Britain as a sixteen-year-old by a band of Irish marauders, he worked as a shepherd for several years, then was directed in a vision to go down to the sea at a certain time where a ship would rescue him to return him home. Some years later he returned to Ireland as a priest and missionary, experiencing amazing success leading the people to Christ and founding the Celtic church, which would include such later leaders as Columba, Brigit, Aidan and Brendan. Much unsubstantiated legend is attributed to him, as is the case with many persons in ancient times, but the irrefutable verity of his life and work is considerable. He is said to have utilized simple means to teach the people the truths of God, including his employment of Ireland’s ubiquitous cloverleaf as a symbol for the Trinity, represented in the icon to the left. As the icon also illustrates, he was further nicknamed “The Enlightener of Ireland;” however, his humility was such that he would certainly have objected to this, given the chance, preferring that designation only to the true light, Jesus Christ, with his own work simply as reflected light.

Now, the Lorica…

I’ve written before on some of the characteristics of Celtic spirituality, so you can click here to be taken to that post if you’d like, but one of its main themes is creation, and you will see some of that here in this great prayer. However, one of my other favorite emphases is Celtic Christianity’s concentration on the real presence of Christ to his people, shown here toward the prayer’s conclusion. Both of these are what have drawn me to this prayer again and again through the decades of my life.

The Bible speaks in Ephesians 6 of what is called ‘the whole armor of God.’ In that passage, the resources God provides his people are likened to armor that protects us from the onslaughts of the enemy of our souls, Satan. Just as the various pieces of armor in the ancient world protected warriors in battle -- just as it surrounded them with shelter, so to speak -- so is Jesus Christ to those who turn to him. A ‘lorica’ is an ancient piece of armor

meant to guard the chest and back. Made originally of heavy leather and later of metal, it consisted of two pieces, a front and back, intended to be connected, in order to surround the upper body from all sides. Jesus becomes our lorica, or breastplate, the One who guards our hearts and minds with his peace (Philippians 4:7). But back to Ephesians 6, the armor that is available to give us this protection are such things as righteousness, truth and faith, in addition to that same peace spoken of in Philippians. These are the things that shield us in our storms and ‘battles.’ And similarly, it is this surrounding, enveloping, fully present Jesus Christ, spoken of near the end of the prayer, who gives us the confidence of his safeguarding attention at all times.

Personally, I’ve often used the Lorica as a morning prayer, and though I have abridged it here, I commend it to you for use at that time or any time in which you find yourself needing to pray for protection. Interestingly, the prayer is also known as The Cry of the Deer, a reference to an apocryphal legend associated with it. While you read or pray, you may want to listen to a lovely soundtrack based on the prayer out of the Celtic Woman series, called The Deer’s Cry. Hit this link to be taken to the YouTube recording, worth it in itself.

St. Patrick’s Lorica

I arise today

Through a mighty strength -- the invocation of the Trinity,

Through belief in the Threeness,

Through confession of the Oneness

Of the Creator of creation.

I arise today, through

The strength of heaven,

The light of the sun,

The radiance of the moon,

The splendor of fire,

The speed of lightning,

The swiftness of wind,

The depth of the sea,

The stability of the earth,

The firmness of rock.

I arise today, through

God’s strength to pilot me,

God’s might to uphold me,

God’s wisdom to guide me,

God’s eye to look before me,

God’s ear to hear me,

God’s word to speak for me,

God’s hand to guard me,

God’s way to lie before me,

God’s shield to protect me,

God’s post to save me

From snares of devils,

From temptation of vices,

From inclinations of nature,

From everyone who shall wish me ill,

Afar and anear, alone and in a crowd.

Christ with me,

Christ before me,

Christ behind me,

Christ in me,

Christ beneath me,

Christ above me,

Christ on my right,

Christ on my left,

Christ where I lie down,

Christ where I sit down,

Christ where I arise,

Christ in the heart of everyone who thinks of me,

Christ in the mouth of everyone who speaks to me,

Christ in every eye that sees me,

Christ in every ear that hears me.

I arise today

Through a mighty strength -- the invocation of the Trinity,

Through belief in the Threeness,

Through confession of the Oneness

Of the Creator of creation.

Salvation is of the Lord.

Salvation is of the Lord.

Salvation is of Christ.

May thy salvation, O Lord, be ever with us.

A longtime pastor friend, now deceased, often used a benediction at the end of his church’s worship services that he had based on the end of the Lorica. I don’t know if it was original to him, but it is where I first heard it. It went something like this:

And now as you go your way,

May Christ go with you:

Above you to watch over you,

Beneath you to bear you up,

Before you to lead you,

Behind you to urge you on,

Inside you to guide you,

And beside you to be your Friend.

In honor of my friend Ross, and simply because it is a beautiful blessing, I have also used it often over the years to close a worship time. May St. Patrick’s Breastplate and this simple related blessing also bring you confidence, courage and shelter during the hard journey.

~~ RGM, March 10, 2016