Take Me Outside is Gospel?

Our son posted photos of his two sons, ages three and five, on the weekend, and I couldn't have been happier. In them they are outside, enjoying an Autumn day, and they seem in their element. Our older daughter regularly shares pictures of her one-year-old as they ramble around their country property. She tries to get outdoors daily, which is wonderful. Our granddaughter has delighted at the sight of leaves and flowers and the sounds of birds since she was only a few months old. Whenever we can we are involved in getting all three grandchildren outdoors, whether its walking or paddling or playing in parks.

Today is Take Me Outside Day in Canada and the goal is to get a quarter million kids out there for at least an hour of activity. According to the non-profit's literature: "It is a day to highlight the importance of unplugging and spending time outside, being active and connecting with nature. It’s also a time to play and have fun in the fresh air."

This is an excellent initiative, particularly in a time when studies show that all Canadians, including children are less inclined to go outside, even though polls show that we generally believe that it benefits us.

There just isn't much about the young Jesus in the New Testament, other than his choice to stay behind in Jerusalem with temple teachers when the pilgrimage caravan set out for home in Nazareth. It stands to reason, though, that he spent much of his early life rambling the countryside. The gospels do tell us that the adult Jesus chose to step away from the demands of ministry to pray in the quiet of the countryside.

I hope there is some opportunity for you to get outside today. Here is a story from the quirky, anti-Semitic, non-canonical Infancy Gospel of Thomas. While we should take it with a shaker full of salt, it does invite us to imagine Jesus in the natural world.

When this boy, Jesus, was five years old, he was playing at the ford of a rushing stream. (2) He was collecting the flowing water into ponds and made the water instantly pure. He did this with a single command. (3) He then made soft clay and shaped it into twelve sparrows. He did this on the sabbath day, and many other boys were playing with him.
(4)But when a Jew saw what Jesus was doing while playing on the sabbath day, he immediately went off and told Joseph, Jesus' father: "See here, your boy is at the ford and has taken mud and fashioned twelve birds with it, and so has violated the sabbath."
(5)So Joseph went there, and as soon as he spotted him he shouted, "Why are you doing what's not permitted on the sabbath?"
(6)But Jesus simply clapped his hands and shouted to the sparrows: "Be off, fly away, and remember me, you who are now alive!" And the sparrows took off and flew away noisily.
(7)The Jews watched with amazement, then left the scene to report to their leaders what they had seen Jesus doing.

Frank and the Wheelbarrow

Last week a friend from our Bowmanville days kindly let me know that a retired colleague in ministry had been "promoted to glory." Frank Lockhart had also served a United Church congregation in Bowmanville, although it was the one down the street. Frank was not a big fan of the United Church in his latter years and was not bashful about saying so. His theology was more conservative and he felt that the UCC's choices on a number of issues had led to its decline. I am a Jesus guy myself, and staunchly Trinitarian but we differed in outlook and we engaged in spirited and civil conversation on a few occasions. He was smart and articulate so it was a worthwhile exercise.

I liked Frank best when he had his hands dirty, which was often. He was one of the earliest supporters of the Valleys 2000 project in Bowmanville which had the goal of transforming a tangled, garbage-strewn flood plain along Bowmanville Creek into a welcoming place for walkers and fishers and cyclists. He could be found there on many days through the seasons, usually in scuffy jeans and pushing a wheelbarrow. He cut brush and schlepped untold tons of soil and gravel to create trails. He also engaged in the noble work of tree planting. Over time the main trail was paved, memorial forest and butterfly garden planted, and the fish ladder was redeveloped. Frank continued to toil away, year in and year out, most of the time without anyone really aware of what he was up to. He knew the valley like the backs of his calloused hands.



I would say hello as I passed through, and on occasion stop for a brief chat. I admire that he was caring for God's Creation, one wheelbarrow load at a time. I'm not sure whether he was issued a shovel when he reached the Pearly Gates or assured he wouldn't need one. I'm betting he heard a "well done, good and faithful servant."

The Small Voice and Sheer Silence

Silence is not the absence of something but the presence of everything.

Gordon Hempton

I loved Gordon Hempton's book One Square Inch of Silence which is about his dedicated and wonderfully quixotic search for the places in America without human-made sounds. Hempton describes himself as an acoustical engineer but I regard him as an acoustical mystic. I do wonder if the name of the book should be One Square Inch of Natural Sounds because even when we find those places where human noise is absent there are the sounds of the natural world...but I quibble.

When we arrived at our friends' beach cottage in Nova Scotia we were aware of the difference in the soundscape literally from the moment we stepped out of our vehicle. We could hear the surf and the birds and the wind in the trees. We immediately felt more alive and complete because of these sounds. For the first five days we were there we blissfully enjoyed the absence of human sounds, a rare luxury we didn't take for granted.

                                                      "Skein" of Sea Foam on Port Joli Beach

During our first walk down the lengthy beach I thought of a verse from 1 Kings and the story of the fleeing, overwhelmed prophet Elijah. On a mountain he hears the "still small voice of God" (King James Version, or the "sound of sheer silence" as it's translated in the New Revised Standard Version. Many people prefer the former but I would suggest that the two always be considered together. It is often in the "sheer silence" of Creation that we are attuned to the voice of the Creator.

The photo at the top is of Ruth inscribing the outline of a labyrinth in the sand of the tidal flat in front of the cottage. We walked it several times as a spiritual exercise to the sound of waves and the wailing of seals. Within hours it was gone, covered by the in-coming water.

Comments about solitude, silence, and the absence of human sounds?

 

Last Light at the Keji Seaside Adjunct

Creationtide

Keji Seaside Adjunct, Nova Scotia --Ruth Mundy

Earlier this year we booked a vacation for September in the Azores, an archipelago of islands in the Atlantic which is a part of Portugal. Then a long-time friend offered us the use of her lovely beach cottage on the south shore of Nova Scotia at the beginning of October. Although we were only home for a little over a week from the first trip before we left on the next it was well worth seizing the opportunity.

The cottage is on the road in to the Kejimkujik National Park Seaside Adjunct, a wild and wind-swept place of extraordinary beauty. The PM and spouse visited last summer and when they reached the water he asked "can we stay here forever?"
https://www.pc.gc.ca/en/pn-np/ns/kejimkujik/visit/seaside-bord-de-mer

The cottage itself is on the edge of a bay where the ebb and flow of the tides is across a tidal flat. This means that every inhalation and exhalation of the tides leaves a huge area of sand exposed. We could walk for kilometres along the shore and at lowest tide we could venture out halfway across the long, narrow bay, serenaded by seals -- they howl like wolves.

Perhaps because we were there in October we saw few people during our rambles. On one early morning walk at Keji it was three hours before we saw or heard another human. We had three nights of clear skies and with no moon to speak of we could see the startlingly clear swath of the Milky Way because there is no light pollution. Our last night, October 8th, we witnessed many "shooting stars" and checked online. It was the height of the Draconid Meteor Shower which was best seen in the Maritimes this year. This area of Nova Scotia is actually darker than some of the designated Dark Sky Preserves in Ontario because there are no communities of any size.

If this sounds like heaven on earth, it was. I was well aware that we were there during the waning days of what is now called Creation Time in the church, or Creationtide in the Church of England. That latter name was perfect for our location. There was a tide clock above our the table where we ate meals, a reminder of the different rhythm to the day than the 24-hour clock which can be a tyrant in our busy lives.

I had with me the lovely devotional book by Macrina Weiderkehr called sevensacredpauses and one of the morning prayers is:

Set the clock of your heart for dawn's arrival.

Taste the joy of being awake.

The tide clock above the table gave a unique meaning to the invitation. Now that we're home our challenge will be to make room in our active lives (yes, even in retirement) for the rhythms of the Creator which nurture us.