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.  
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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. 
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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

-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

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.
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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.

​Last Sunday I went
to bird church,
or maybe
it was river church.
Either way,
I was greeted by gulls,
mallards, heron,
cedar wax wings,
and approached
by Mystery.

There were flowers
offering praise and beauty
in purples and gold.
The sky opened
space for us,
the constant flow
of the river whispered
ageless truths.

I wandered prayerfully
then returned and waited,
wondering who would
offer the benediction.
I suspected it might be gull,
perched proudly
on a rock in the
center of the river.

But, no.
Soundlessly,
a single yellow
leaf spun down
from above,
swirling to a
resting place
in front of my feet:
Go in peace.

​- Wendy Janzen

ECO-SPIRITUAL PRACTICE

In her book Braiding Sweetgrass, Robin Wall Kimmerer has a chapter called ‘The Gift of Strawberries.’  She writes, "Strawberries first shaped my view of a world full of gifts simply scattered at your feet. A gift comes to you through no action of your own, free, having moved toward you without your beckoning. It is not a reward; you cannot earn it, or call it to you, or even deserve it. And yet it appears. Your only role is to be open-eyed and present.  Gifts exist in a realm of humility and mystery – as with random acts of kindness, we do not know their source." (p 23-24)

Reading
“The earth brought forth vegetation: plants yielding seed of every kind and trees of every kind bearing fruit with the seed in it. And God saw that it was good.” Genesis 1:12

Practice
During strawberry season, set aside some time to savour a locally grown strawberry. (This practice can be done with other locally grown fruit or vegetables in season.) If you can, pick it yourself. If not, enjoy one from the market or a friend's garden. Hold it gently and reverently in your hands. Pause to give thanks for it – thanks to God and thanks to the plant, the soil, the rain, the sun. Examine its shape and rich colour. Smell it. Feel its texture and delicate skin. Finally, take a bite and taste it. Savour it slowly, enjoying the juicy sweetness.

Reflection
Take time to reflect on and appreciate the gift of this strawberry. Consider how it connects you to the land on which it grew. Consider how it offers both nourishment and pleasure. Consider how, once you ate it, it became part of you. If you wish, spend some time journaling your reflections, or honouring the experience by offering a prayer, writing a poem, painting a picture, etc.

Blessing
Blessed be the earth for providing this gift.
Blessed be the sun for helping it to grow.
Blessed be the wind and birds for carrying its seeds.
Blessed be the rain for watering its roots. 
Blessed be God, giver of all good gifts.

​- Wendy Janzen

God, our Provider,
We praise you for pollinators,
for the many beings who
are indispensable in 
bringing food to our tables - 
birds, bats, beetles,
butterflies and bees…

Bless native plants -
their flowering, fruiting, and
feeding of this ecosystem. 
Bless species at risk:
rusty-patched and yellow-banded
bumble bees.
Bless our attempts to partner
in the restoration and health
of this land.

Bless the web of life, 
our deep connections,
our interdependence,
our giving and receiving.
Amen

​- Wendy Janzen