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?

As this year turns to the next,
Bless the passing of time, God,
whether we like it or not.

Bless children growing right before our eyes,
our ageing bodies and ageing parents.

Bless the presence of each moment, 
and the movement of hours turning 
into days, weeks, months, 
seasons, years, lifetimes.

For the year behind us, 
may we be graced with memories.
Give us hearts large enough 
to hold heartaches, 
resilient enough to accept 
losses, and content enough
to be grateful.

For the year ahead, give us 
open hands and open minds.
Help us embrace growth and beauty,
unknowing and paradox. 

Bless the good earth who grounds us,
and horizons that give us space to see.

Bless the sun who travels
the globe each day,
and the moon whose change night
by night is perceptible.

Bless the water with is many forms,
modelling change and transformation.

Bless the sky and its moods, brilliant
​and drab and everything in between. 

Bless us with rituals that bring
shape and meaning to our days.

Bless us with companions who 
provide connection and comfort.

​Bless us with hope in a future
with light, love, and laughter.

​- Wendy Janzen

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

A blessing for heading into December and Advent

Blessed be the darkness,
protecting, covering, comforting. 
Blessed be the early evenings, 
and long nights. 
Blessed be the moon and stars, 
and monochrome landscapes.
Blessed be the deep stillness
and inner quiet. 
Blessed be the hope
held in the shadows,
beneath the ground, 
and deep in the belly.

​- Wendy Janzen

To breathe the fresh morning air,
To observe the variety of tracks in the snow,
To greet the crow flying overhead,
To hear the joyful chirping of birds,
To admire the silhouette of an old tree
in front of the rising sun,
To feel the bright, warm sun on my cold skin:
This is to be alive
and to remember 
I am not alone. 

- Wendy Janzen

I've been in a bit of a writing slump. So for the month of February I took on the spiritual practice of writing one (or more) six-word sermons each week, based on time spent out in creation. I'd encourage it as a simple way to focus and synthesize your thoughts and reflections from time spent outdoors, or whenever/wherever you spend your contemplative time.

Here are the five I shared on our social media streams this month:

Below the snow, seeds await spring.

God's here in our winters, too.

Love shines on all God's creatures.

Every day let kindness burn bright.

Be rooted in peace, not war. 

God, our constant companion and guide, 
here in this place of stark beauty, 
make your sacred presence felt among us. 
Open our senses and our 
full awareness to your mystery, 
and help us to listen to the seeds 
buried in the earth, to the interplay 
between water and ice, 
to the cold wind in the bare branches, 
to the stillness of the trees, 
to the brilliance of the sky, 
to prayers without words. 
Amen.

May God bless the season of winter 
around us and within us. 
May we go, knowing God's 
presence in the midst of life’s challenges,
God's love in the stillness, and
God's hope in the promise of
new life waiting for spring.
Amen.

​- Wendy Janzen

Blessed be the Light
that bursts forth, illuminating
new paths, enlightening
new thoughts.

May this Epiphany season
be filled with dreams
and signs.
May your imagination
take you beyond
what you thought was
possible.
May you have the
courage and vision
to follow the Light
into places
of inspiration.

- Wendy Janzen