​Our November gathering invited us into Lament. Chip read Romans 8:22-28 from the First Nations Version of the Bible, which includes these words:

"It is plain to see that all creation is still groaning in pain like a mother giving birth. And even we who have first tasted of the Spirit are groaning on the inside...
Spirit helps us in our weakness, for our prayers are often empty words, but Creator’s own Spirit groans deep within us, without words..."

Wendy shared a quoted from Hillarie Maddox, from her substack Black Girl Country Living, Oct. 16, titled "Feeling the Earth in Our Bodies" and sent us into our wandering time with this invitation: 

As we wander today, I invite you to pay attention and tune in to signs of distress, woundedness, loss, or stress the Earth is exhibiting here in this place. Tune in, as well, to similar things you are feeling or suppressing in your body. What do the earth, your body, and the Spirit want you to know today?

We ended with Chip leading us in a ritual of symbolically dropping our 'wordless prayers or groans' into the creek. 

Our September theme invited us to reflect on being rooted and grounded. Daniel Berrigan, a Jesuit peace activist, once said “Don’t just do something. Stand there.” Standing in one place and not moving is a part of our work. It is a form of rootedness that leads to knowledge and intimacy and relationship. Resistance to forces of destruction can be the slow work of being present to a place in the face of a transient, fast-paced world.

Ephesians 3:16-18a (from the First Nations Version)
“My prayer for you is that from the great treasures of God’s beauty, Creator will gift you with the Spirit’s mighty power and strengthen you in your inner being… I pray that as you trust in the Chosen One, your roots will go deep into the soil of [God’s] great love, and that from these roots you will draw the strength and courage needed to walk this sacred path together with all… this path of love is higher than the stars, deeper than the great waters, wider than the sky. Yes, this love come from and reaches to all directions.” 

How can we become radically rooted to Place (this place right here where we have been coming to worship month after month, and the places where we each live), getting to know it, learning to love it, learning to love God, walking the sacred path together and making the world a better place? How can we learn from this wise old hemlock tree (pictured) whose roots are holding it upright even as the creek is eroding the soil beneath it? How do we root ourselves in love?

Our June worship gathering invited us to reflect on the light of this time of year (approaching the summer solstice) and the Light of the world.

We grounded ourselves with our eyes closed, and then opened them with the invitation to look around as if we were seeing with new eyes, noticing particularly the light and shadow, varying shades of green, texture, depth of field, and movement.

We read from Psalm 36:8-9 and John 8:12.

We also listened to a prayer by John Philip Newell (adapted by Wendy Janzen)



​Light within all light, Soul behind all souls,
as we approach the summer solstice and the turning of the seasons
we wait and watch for you. 
Your light within this day’s light
Your Soul within the human soul. 
Your Presence beckoning to us from the heart of life.
In the light of the afternoon 
Let us experience fresh shinings in our soul.
In the rich colours all around us
Let us see the variety of ways you show yourself. 
Light within all light,
Inner Flame of the universe,
Let us be aware of your light shining on us. Amen

Blessings as you celebrate this season of light!

Our monthly worship gatherings and events generally take place within the Grand River watershed. Most also take place on the Haldimand Tract. We are mindful of our relationship with Place and of our Indigenous neighbours and their ongoing story with this Land.

Here is a visual image of where we meet (near the convergence of Laurel Creek and the Grand River) with a bit of the story of the Haldimand Tract and the Dish With One Spoon wampum treaty. We want to continue to learn the truth of these lands and work toward repair. 

This year, in honour of Earth Day, we started an hour early with some activities including garbage clean-up, letter writing, forest bingo (for the kids!) and a self-guided spring ephemeral walk.

As we moved into a time of worship, we focused on celebrating the ways we are cared for by the Earth, rather than on the problems we need to fix. The Earth is amazing, and full of blessings!

These two verses came to mind:
"The earth is the Lord’s and all that is in it, the world, and those who live in it."  - Psalm 24:1
"Do to others as you would have them do to you."  - Luke 6:31

The last chapter of Barbara Brown Taylor's book An Altar in the World is called “The Practice of Pronouncing Blessings.” She writes, 
“To pronounce a blessing on something is to see it from the divine perspective. To pronounce a blessing is to participate in God's own initiative. To pronounce a blessing is to share God's own audacity.”
“The key to blessing things is knowing that they beat you to it. They key to blessing things is to receive their blessing.”

We wandered with these invitations:
Remember that we are both blessed by the earth, and we are a blessing to the earth. 
See what captures your attention, stop, and offer a blessing.
Consider how it has first blessed you.
Rather than continuing on and jumping to bless and be blessed by as many beings as possible, take time to listen and offer the gift of your attention and time.
What do they want you to know?
What do they have to tell you about God?
​What does God want you to know about them?

I (Wendy) recently started a course called Earth and Climate Chaplaincy. In our first session together, we talked about “trepidatious joy,” that mixed feeling of dread or despair that mingles with wonder and joy.

When we open ourselves to the world, to the beauty and goodness around us, it also breaks open our hearts to the brokenness we find. Whether it be wars and genocide, weirding weather, or dying species, there is plenty to lament. And still, we also experience joy in life.
​
During our wandering time at our March worship gathering, this was the invitation we offered before the wander: take note of what emotions you are carrying with you - are you bringing grief you need to express, or are you leaning toward wonder and gratitude, or something else? Whichever it is, take time to feel it, and as you wander notice anything here that is echoing or mirroring your mood or feelings. Where (or how) does the outer landscape reflect your inner landscape? Spend time there, and release what you need to release: silently, verbally, or symbolically with an action or gesture.

Our February worship gathering was led by Lisa and Leah; and the theme was love - not romantic love, but love for the world, and in particular love of place, this place where we gather for worship. Our readings for reflection include these two:

My help is in the mountain
Where I take myself to heal
The earthly wounds
That people give to me
I find a rock with sun on it
And a stream where the water runs gentle
And the trees which one by one give me company.
So must I stay for a long time
Until I have grown from the rock
And the stream is running through me
And I cannot tell myself from one tall tree.
Then I know that nothing touches me
Nor makes me run away.
My help is in the mountain
That I take away with me.
- Mary Wood 

Psalm 96: 11-12
Let the heavens rejoice, let the earth be glad; let the sea resound, and all that is in it. Let the fields be jubilant, and everything in them; let all the trees of the forest sing for joy.

What you love about a particular place or the wild world in general. What are the things that you love most about being in nature, about being outside amongst the more-than-humans? What does it do for your spirit? How does it change you? What gifts does it offer you? Where do you feel loved by the wild world?

Our January worship gathering focused on the theme of Refuge/Refugia. 

Winter is a season when we, and the creatures and plants around us, seek refuge from the harsh elements. It is also a metaphor for challenging and stressful times, like the times we live in with climate disasters, wars, and polarization. 

Our winter book study is on the book Refugia Faith: Seeking Hidden Shelters, Ordinary Wonders, and the Healing of the Earth by Debra Rienstra. Refugia is a biological term that describes little pockets of safety, hidden shelters in harsh conditions or times of disaster and crisis, where life persists and out of which new life emerges. Author Debra Rienstra writes:

“... even amid destruction, the forces of life yearn for renewal. A refugia faith, similarly, regards our dire conditions honestly but immerses fear and despair in longing for God's promised new life.” (p 31)

Refugia are places to find shelter, but only for a time - they are not an escape or a place to stick our heads in the snow and ignore the realities of life. More importantly, refugia are places to begin, places where the tender and harrowing work of restoration and renewal takes root. Winter doesn’t last forever; trees don’t stay in dormancy forever; animals don’t stay in hibernation or in their burrows forever; birds don’t stay in their winter nesting grounds forever. 

We can create places of refuge to protect us and renew us through the hardest times, and then launch from there into the next season or stage of regrowth. 

Psalm 46 says “God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth should change…”
​
Where do you see places of refugia in the world around you? Where do you go to seek refuge?

Our December worship gathering, as always, combined themes from the Advent season and the coming winter solstice. It is no coincidence that we celebrate Advent when we are at the darkest point of the year in the Northern Hemisphere. The return of the sun symbolizes the coming of the Light of the World, Emmanuel: God With Us. 

While we want to be mindful of not polarizing light and dark, or demonizing darkness, we do acknowledge that there is destruction and brokenness in the world; as a result all of us, and all of creation is in need of hope and healing. This is what we celebrate as we light candles and wait for the sun’s shift back toward lengthening days.

Just as there are different types & stages of light, twilight, and darkness, we experience light and darkness differently in our own lives. The intensity of darkness varies. Perhaps it is a constant companion - one you are more or less comfortable with. Perhaps it is a veil that you long to have lifted. Both light and dark play important roles in our lives and in creation. 

“Sing, starry sky and every constellation, for what the Eternal One has done. Shout for joy, dark soil underfoot and deep caverns below; Erupt in joyful songs, mountains and forests, and every tree in them! Sing joyfully, for the Eternal One has rescued Jacob; the splendor of God will be revealed...” (Isaiah 44:23, The Voice)

Leah invited us into a time of wandering with this invitation: "Sometimes when I enter into our wandering & wondering times, I find having a phrase or words to repeat to myself…kind of like a mantra. So today I offer you the opening line of the song The Sound of Silence by Simon & Garfunkel, which says 'Hello Darkness, my old friend'. We invite you to use that phrase as an invitation to lean into the darkness today during your wanderings & wonderings."

After wandering and sharing with each other, we listened to this song Find the Light by David Ramirez as we lit candles. 

Our closing blessing was A Blessing for Traveling in the Dark by Jan Richardson:

Go slow
if you can.
Slower.
More slowly still.
Friendly dark
or fearsome,
this is no place
to break your neck
by rushing,
by running,
by crashing into
what you cannot see.

Then again,
it is true:
different darks
have different tasks,
and if you
have arrived here unawares,
if you have come
in peril
or in pain,
this might be no place
you should dawdle.

I do not know
what these shadows
ask of you,
what they might hold
that means you good
or ill.
It is not for me
to reckon
whether you should linger
or you should leave.

But this is what
I can ask for you:

That in the darkness
there be a blessing.
That in the shadows
there be a welcome.
That in the night
you be encompassed
by the Love that knows
your name.

- in Circle of Grace: A Book of Blessings for the Seasons, Jan Richardson