Poetry slows us down

Here is a newsletter article that I have just put together for my congregation. It is springtime, and I have poetry on the brain. Not a bad malady, by the way.

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Dear Friends -

“Nothing is so beautiful as Spring,” wrote Gerard Manley Hopkins, my favorite springtime poet. Hopkins is regarded as one of the great poets of the Victorian era, and he was a complicated soul. He loved poetry as a child and wrote many “verses.” While attending college in 1866, however, he gave up poetry for Lent. Later that summer, he converted to Catholicism. Less than a week later, he set fire to all his own poems and abstained from writing any more for another seven years. He joined the Jesuit order and traveled to the countryside of Wales to be ordained as a priest.

It was the happiest time of his life. As he prepared for his ordination, it dawned on him that he could write poetry as a way of praising God. And so, in the year 1877, he wrote a burst of poems that are still enjoyed today. One of them is titled “God’s Grandeur,” and goes like this:

The world is charged with the grandeur of God.

   It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;

   It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil

Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?

Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;

   And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;

   And wears man’s smudge and shares man’s smell: the soil

Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.

And for all this, nature is never spent;

   There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;

And though the last lights off the black West went

   Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs -

Because the Holy Ghost over the bent

   World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.

The poem travels from line to line, wandering through memory and observation, creating its own experience. To read it is a Sabbath experience, slowing us down to dwell in God’s beauty. With poetry like this, Hopkins pushed words into new forms. But he was not to be celebrated as a poet during his lifetime. The Jesuits directed him to teach poor children in the cities of Ireland, Scotland, and Northern England. He expected a life of hard work, but he never took to living in dark, smoky cities. He contracted typhoid from polluted water in Dublin, and died from it at age 44.

Father Hopkins might have been forgotten, had it not been for his correspondence with Robert Bridges, a friend from college. After Hopkins’ death, Bridges began to publish his poetry. Those who worked side by side with Hopkins had never known that he saw the world so charged with God’s beauty.

Let this be a reminder to us all. Do something beautiful today, even if nobody else knows about it. Take the time and space to fall in love with God - and God’s world. Risk writing down what you see, if only to let God know that you are paying attention to this good life.

See you on the Sabbath,

Rev. Bill

Me too

I enjoyed a gathering of church folks last night. Our deacons had convened to talk about the ways that they care for the people of our church. It's a capable and compassionate group. They offer rides, provide meals, send get-well cards, and organize food drives. These are the kind of people that bless our church, and it is a delight to serve with them.

When the topic of this summer's sabbatical came up in conversation, there was a dead calm. A moment of silence. A musical fermata. Then somebody asked, "Can I ask where you are going?"

Oxygen entered the room as I began to speak. I didn't find it necessary to give a travelogue and brag about all the places where I will go. I spoke instead of the benefits of the time away: time with my family, time with God, time to unplug from an active schedule, time to be healthy, time to have my soul replenished. After a few beats of silence, someone said, "I would love to have time like that." Another echoed, "Me too."

All of us want time like this, but few of us take it. Every day is full of time. Why don't we take more of it to address matters of the soul?

Gentle JourneyMan

Last night, a number of church folks gathered to spend some time with Kent Groff, our favorite spiritual director from Denver. He is a world-class author with a deep, deep soul. Kent led two events at our church, both focused on a line from the poet Rilke:

I am the rest between two notes, which are somehow always in discord

It is a pungent phrase, appropriate for the musical nature of this upcoming sabbatical. Kent led us in an exploration of the discords in our lives. Where is tension and discord? What are the uneven demands? What - or Who - is the rest we desire?

Thanks, Kent, for sounding the tones and pointing to the Rest. We were blessed to have him in our zip code. And for those who want Rilke's poem, here is one translation:

My life is not this steeply sloping hour,
in which you see me hurrying.
Much stands behind me: I stand before it like a tree;
but I am only one of many mouths
and at that, the one that will be still the soonest.
I am the rest between two notes,
which are somehow always in discord
because deaths note wants to climb over -
but in the dark interval, reconciled,
They stay here trembling.
And the song goes on, beautiful.

Random reservations

Many moments have a greater purpose that we may not realize at the time. So I'm starting to schedule some of these moments through the sabbatical.

My youngest child is graduating from high school, and has selected American University as her college of choice for the fall. We are planning a big graduation party for Father's Day, the same day that the sabbatical begins. As daughter Meg said, "Let's get it done." It will be a send-off for her, anticipating her bittersweet departure in mid-August.

She has already invited a thousand people to invade our back yard, and invited a few friends to return for the party-after-the-party which will involve a bonfire and s'mores. We are looking forward to celebrating the end of high school with her, and surrounding her with love as she prepares to depart.

At the end of the summer, after the dependents have departed to become independents, Jamie and I have booked our tickets for the Canadian Rockies. We expect to ramble around those big hills for two weeks, hiking, spotting wildlife, and gazing at extraordinary landscapes such as Peyto Lake. The trip gives us the time to explore how we will return to an empty nest. I suspect we will chat about the blessings and lessons we have received thus far, as we chart our future ahead.

One of the coolest moments during the summer is a workshop with Bobby McFerrin, scheduled in late summer. Sometime around seventh grade, a public school music teacher told me that I couldn't sing. I know that isn't true, but it is difficult to get that harsh voice out of my head. Bobby is leading a gathering for those who wish to replace such voices with our own melodious voices. I am thrilled to be going to this event.
It promises to be another soul-refreshing moment.

What we want to do

I recently met Sammy Nestico, renowned composer and big band arranger. He was coming to town for a festival that celebrated his music. We chatted cordially, I mentioned a couple of his tunes that I enjoyed, and then he told me a story: "When I was young, maybe twelve or thirteen, I heard a great big band in Pittsburgh, my hometown. I said to myself, that's what I want to do for the rest of my life." And so he has.

His website mentions his background: staff arranger for a Pittsburgh radio station, music degree from Duquesne University, music teacher for a Pennsylvania high school, fifteen years in the Airmen of Note jazz band of the U.S. Air Force. I remember him for a few of the many recordings that he did for the Count Basie Orchestra. They were stirring and fun, and he has rightly been acclaimed for what he has done with his life.

Mr. Nestico has a storied career, and promises to tell me more stories while he is in town. But the best story is how it began: "I heard a great band... that's what I want to do..."

Many of us have had those moments. As I reflect on twenty-seven years so far of pastoral ministry, I can still remember my youthful excitement of hearing the Bible opened to me in sermons and studies. I recall the stirring feelings of serving communion to folks in a nursing home. I can picture the faces of those who were assisted by acts of service by Christian people. To separate ourselves from the origins of our life's work is to diminish our passion for what we are called to do.

There are reasons for why we are here on earth. God is not aimless or indifferent in creating us, and sets some essential work before all of us. Perhaps we get paid for it. Or perhaps we get paid elsewhere, so we are free to do what we need to do. Our life's work is the work we will do regardless of whether we are honored or ignored. It's just that important.

My occasional daydream for all of us goes something like this: what if money did not exist, and we were simply fed and sheltered? If so, how would we spend our time? What would we be doing?

Here's my answer. I would be doing exactly what I am doing right now. That's how I know that I am in the place where God calls me.

How about you?

Coming and Going

The summer of 2013 is a transitional year for our blended household. We are planning our sabbatical to honor the changes that our family is undergoing. Let me introduce them.

Josh is our social worker. A recent graduate with his MSW, he is working near our home in a first-rate drug and alcohol rehabilitation center. I think of him as the guy that people meet at the door when they enter the facility. He has seen and heard a great deal in this field.

His current position is a temporary one - and he would really like to get a permanent job. This will free him to get a place of his own. . . and to move on with his future. We fully expect that this year is his year!


Lauren is our artist. She has been working for a year after receiving her B.A. in art therapy. She loves non-representative sculpture (i.e. iron girders that make you wonder what they are), is a talented photographer, and has even spent some time at the anvil in a blacksmith shop.

Currently she works at a senior center in the community, arranging for activities and providing their needs. She wants to further her education with an M.A. in art therapy. Nazareth College and Springfield College have accepted her, and she will decide soon which one she will attend. Lauren expects to begin her studies in the fall of 2013.

Katie is currently a junior at a state university, about four hours from home. We describe her as a people-person, noting her wide circle of friends and her engaging personality. Her major is Hospitality Management, and she dreams of running a resort or hotel. She would be a natural.

In the meantime, she is enjoying her college years. Education is running neck-and-neck with her social life. It looks like she is learning her major both inside and outside the classroom. Her grades are good - she has ended up on the dean's list each semester. But with one year to go, it's time for her to focus on what she will do and where she will go.

Meg is finishing high school. Or rather, with three months before graduation, she is emotionally finished with high school. She is our academic star, taking tough courses, getting astronomical grades, and doing a full slate of extracurricular activities. She is the kind of kid that suburban parents brag about, but her schedule is simply exhausting.

She is the youngest in the foursome of young adults in our household. She has been accepted at three universities and waits to hear from four more. We suspect that she will making her college choice soon. This will be her last year under our roof.

So we are planning some occasions to spend some time together as we work through this transition. Jamie and I enjoy these four offspring of ours, but they are moving on. We know it, they know it. And we want to make the most of this remaining time that we have with them. We love each one of them very much.

Why For?

What will renew me? What activities, practices, and insights will refresh me as I continue my work? That's what this post is all about - the theme of this upcoming sabbatical.

I suppose many people could observe me for a while and make a few prescriptions. "Don't do so many things" - easy advice from an outsider who doesn't share my array of interests. "Slow down" - an odd suggestion from anybody who never observes the widely varied pacing of my days. "Take care of yourself" - the quintessential Baby Boomer expression of self-indulgence; truth is, many of my age bracket are actually addicted to themselves and their own whims.

No, something deeper is needed: the Spirit's Music is what I call it. Something like the blending of melody, harmony, and rhythm in all the dimensions of my life. This was the governing theme of the sabbatical proposal that I submitted to the Lilly Endowment. For me, a sabbatical can be refreshing in four ways.

• Relationships have a tonality and syncopation about them. A sabbatical is a season to tune up our connections to the people who are significant to us.
• Silence is never quiet. Solitude is the occasion for deep conversing with the Composer of our lives. This promises insight, comfort, and vocational clarity.
• Nature sings, and mostly we speed along the paved highways too quickly to pick up creation's tune. It is time to get out of the car and walk, hike, and admire our beautiful planet.  
• The performing stage is where musicians impart their insight and wisdom. Since my job involves "working weekends," there are few occasions to hear the masters of music-making.

So this suggests my plan. The sabbatical will begin after church on Father's Day, June 16, and run through the 15th of September. These ninety days will focus on these four recurring situations where the Spirit can make some life-giving music.