Our September worship gathering was cancelled due to a thunder storm.

Our theme would have been Gelassenheit - a German word used over the centuries by Christian mystics, Anabaptists, and now eco-theologians and environmental ethicists. It is often translated as yieldedness, though some other words might be composure, tranquility, serenity, unhurried, calm, easy-going, and laid-back. Gelassenheit is a form of releasing ourselves from our egos or from anthropocentrism, and opening to mystery and connection with the world around us, with the divine among us.  

As I was thinking about the turning of the seasons, this idea of yielding came to mind. Summer yields to Autumn; the lighter half of the year yields to the darker half of the year; flowers yield to seeds, leaves yield to the earth, growth yields to dormancy. This kind of yielding is happening all around us.
“The idea of “waiting” in Gelassenheit is distinguishably different from our normal idea of waiting for something that is named, and is more about waiting upon, which has the feel of a gift being bestowed. … What Gelassenheit offers is the opportunity to look at another way of being… By letting that which is apart from us come to us on its own terms rather than on ours, we are in a listening mode whereby objectification ceases. An experience reaches us from beyond. … In silence and listening things come out to meet us.” (Sharon Harvey)

Set aside some time to go outside and open yourself to what is happening around you - wait upon creation, wait upon God's wisdom, and see what happens.

“Be still and know that I am God.” - Psalm 46:10
All around us, we see summer yielding to autumn. What lessons might we learn from adopting a similar posture? 

A little prayer inspired by a daily chore and the mysteries that happen as my food and garden waste transforms into fertile soil.

Bless these scraps
these left behind treasures.
Bless this little pile of transformation
where death and life intermingle
and miracles happen.

​Amen.

- Wendy Janzen

Our August worship gathering began with a picnic, moved into a tree identification walk, and ended with our worship gathering. We took time this month to better get to know the trees who host us each month at Bechtel Park. Among the trees we identified were three varieties of oaks, black walnut, beech, ash, black cherry, maples, ironwood, hemlock, and willow.

Our worship theme was inspired by this blog post written by an acquaintance of mine, Ragan Sutterfield, called the Hospitality of Oaks. 

“The Lord appeared to Abraham by the oaks of Mamre, as he sat at the entrance of his tent in the heat of the day.”  - Genesis 18:1

Ragan points out that oaks are the most hospitable trees.  They provide acorns, of course, to feed birds and squirrels. But their generosity extends far beyond that.  Oaks are the exclusive larval host plant for over a hundred different butterfly and moth species.  That means that the caterpillars of these insects can only eat the leaves of oak trees.  Such an abundance of caterpillars also means an abundance of food for birds, many of which rely on them to feed their young. 

The bark and branches of the oak is also a favourable place for other life to grow, from lichen and moss to ferns. The hospitality of oaks is not only on the outside, either. As they mature, oaks tend to hollow out, creating a space for animals in the enclosure of the tree’s healthy and living outer layers.  
​
Given their abundant generosity, it was a grove of oaks that were the real hosts of Abraham’s encounter with God at Mamre. It was the oaks that provided a hospitable space for Abraham’s tent, and in turn created a hospitable space for him to encounter God through welcoming three visiting strangers. Abraham was only able to extend hospitality to the visitors because he first received hospitality from the oaks.

During our wandering time, we were invited to engage with a tree - any kind of tree. Reflect on its hospitality, and the gifts it has to offer. Or reflect more generally on the hospitality this forest offers you today, or recall a memory of a particular tree that has nurtured you in a particular way. 
​
In all of this, how does the hospitality of trees invite us to encounter God, and God's hospitality toward us? What can we offer in return?

Look: See how
the morning sun
touches this 
one patch of 
leaves, just so.
Light, bringing
colour, illuminating
space, drawing
my attention
to this moment.
Now it's shifted,
diffused, 
sun climbs higher,
slipping behind 
clouds.

Had I missed 
this moment,
would anything 
have changed?
So many similar 
fleeting moments,
like the squirrel 
dancing in the 
supple branches 
atop a willow
or the bumblebee
buzzing by on
her way to
breakfast.

This morning,
I pay attention, 
notice the light,
the life, the
intersection of
the universe
and my existence
here in this moment,
in this ordinary place.
I find myself in
sacred space,
and am 
changed.

​- Wendy Janzen

Water, Wind, Earth & Fire - the elements that are the building blocks of all life. Elements is also the word that we use for the wine and bread of communion. Our July worship gathering  connected and played with the interconnection between the communion elements and the elements of the earth/God’s provision in the natural world. Thomas Merton said that the elements can act as spiritual guides to help us on our sacred journey. The qualities of these elements invite us to pray with them, helping us to know the nature of God.

Henriette shared this quote from Barbara Brown Taylor:

“To lie with my back flat on the fragrant ground is to receive a transfusion of the same power that makes the green blade rise. To remember that I am dirt and to dirt I shall return is to be given my life back again, if only for one present moment at a time. 
​
Where other people see acreage, timber, soil, and river frontage, I see God's body, or at least as much of it as I am able to see. In the only wisdom I have at my disposal, the Creator does not live apart from creation but spans and suffuses it. When I take a breath, God's Holy Spirit enters me. When a cricket speaks to me, I talk back. Like everything else on earth, I am an embodied soul, who leaps to life when I recognize my kin.”

We wandered, reflecting on the elements, and were invited to respond afterwards by sharing the elements together in the ritual of communion. On our altar, we had the elements of life - bread which comes from earth, juice filled with water, a feather representing air, and a flame of fire - this is the stuff of which we, and all living things are made.

-Have you ever heard 
the evening song 
of a hermit thrush 
drifting across a still lake?

Their whimsical trills
weave and bounce
through the treetops
and reverberate joy
for living this moment.

I imagine God 
must have been 
so delighted when She 
heard it the first time
that She closed her eyes 
and whispered: so good!

​- Wendy Janzen

On this mundane
Monday morning
when the same sun
shines in my window
and the same birds
sing their same songs
from the same trees,
I gently wake to this new day
I've never lived before
and give thanks.

​- Wendy Janzen

Wherever you find yourself this month, take time to notice how or where God shows up. Last month I discovered a lovely children's book called Sometimes I Feel Like a River, by Danielle Daniel and Josée Bisaillon. It inspired me to ask the question of myself, 'what in nature do I feel like today?' It then inspired me to dig further, and see if the same metaphor could apply to God. I offer these questions to you this month as a spiritual practice.
​
Take time this month to go for a mindful walk outdoors and see what draws your attention. Using your imagination, complete the sentence 'sometimes I feel like...' (a river, the sky, a snail...). Next, do it again with this variation 'sometimes God/Spirit feels like...' 

What insights arise? How does creation mirror things about who you are or who God is? Consider recording your reflections your in a journal, maybe turn it into a poem, draw/paint a picture, or express your insights through body movement.

Here is a sample that I wrote (and you can find another in the previous post). 

Sometimes, I feel like a lake,
deep, wide, full.
I can hold it all,
I ride the waves,
I feel buoyant,
I dive deep.

Sometimes, God feels like a lake,
deep, wide, full.
God holds mystery,
crashes and churns with
intimidating indignation,
shimmers with wonder,
is fluid and calm.
I can only see a part of 
the whole of God.

Sometimes, I feel like the sky,
open, light, and vast.
At times, I am clear;
I see the big picture
and hold things lightly.
At times, all seems clouded,
heavy to the point of bursting
and I shed tears
that fall to the earth.

Sometimes, God feels like the sky,
open, light, and vast.
At times, beautiful, inviting,
approachable like a sunset.
At times, thundering,
and I watch from a safe distance.
All encompassing, 
close and far,
breathing life,
​connecting everything.