Vermont Water Reflections 2

Vermont Water Reflections 2

This past week brought new reflections, experiences, and friendships.

First, I sat next to the La Platte River, now a sanctuary, with parking behind the Zen Monastery in Shelburne. I had bushwhacked through a field and woods (discovering a spot where the grass was laid low, I assume by deer resting) to spend some time sitting along the stream. A bridge crosses over the river, with the information about the endangered fish, the Stonecat. But it takes some persistence to actually sit by the stream. I watched two dragon flies cavort above the stream in the sunshine and relaxed.

Several days later, I spent a full day at the home of parishioners, who had kindly given me permission (and a key) to spend time at their home whenever I wish to do so, while they spend the summer back in Minnesota. In the mountains outside Bristol, one hears no traffic noise. What a blessing to have a day in silence, broken only by birds. I read on Lutheran Spirituality, Duane Elgin’s The Elegant Universe, and The Tao of Liberation: Exploring the Ecology of Transformation (Mark Hathaway and Leonardo Boff), napped and prayed about Ascension, my friends, and family.

I took a walk down the road to a small stream with a little water fall. Such microcosms exist in nature; we only need to spend time, stoop down, and look. How beautiful.

And, finally, days later, I went on an all-day lake shore walk, where a new geologic map of Vermont was unveiled by walk leader Dr. Walter Poulman:

In the past week I've also spent several hours sitting and gazing at the lake, at Oakledge Park, including an afternoon where the wind blew and the energy seemed electric, another hour spent in the morning, early, with no one about, sitting on rocks. What quiet and solace we have all around us!

Last Monday, I began five days of sailing lessons. I knew little and ended learning about sailing directions (close-hauled, close reach, etc.), sides to the boat (starboard and port), etc. (of course, Jake could have taught me all this, too!).

Perhaps more important than the actual sailing lessons were reflections on the connections between sailing and the life of the church. The boat as the church is an ancient symbol; in meditations on this, first I saw myself as the skipper and Ascension parishioners as the crew (with the Holy Spirit as the wind), but that only lasted an hour or so: Ascension is a big boat, and I am only a beginning sailor! I felt frightened, but then I felt calmed when I saw Ascension (parishioners and pastor) as the crew, the Holy Spirit as wind, Christ as the skipper, and God as the sea (someone suggested that God could also be the person who fixes the boat when it malfunctions!).

We are kept sailing by the grace of God through Christ, upholding, leading, guiding, giving movement and beauty to our lives. And we are all in the boat, with all our foibles, contradictions, hopes, inadequacies, and idiosyncrasies, all still loved and knit together, and saved by Christ.

What does it mean to be saved by Christ?

My reading and understanding have continued with the wonderful book I Am/No Self: A Christian Commentary on the Heart Sūtra. Professors of Religion John and Linda Keenan, retired from Middlebury College, focus on John’s Gospel, the most mystical and symbolic of the Gospels. (This is of course where our sabbatical story of the Samaritan woman at the well is found, in chapter 4).

They write: “Perhaps we can envisage this Spirit as the living waters that flow from the innermost womb of our Christ being, of our hearts and minds identified and one with the Christ who is one with the Father.” (p. 157)

And “…the meaning of this gospel remains suspended and inaccessible to analysis. As such, however, it may liberate us—through constant prayer and meditation on our oneness with Christ—to abandon all our previously cherished views and to ratchet down our faith claims, not to lessen their significance, but to increase it!” (p. 123)

With the focus on our oneness with Christ, developed through prayer and meditation, I was further helped in my understanding of living water by the following from Water: Its Spiritual Significance:

“The fluidity of water and its constantly purifying aspect—the closer to the source it is, whether it be a spring, melted snow or rain, the purer it is—is a reflection of the soul’s ability to purify and renew itself. In spiritual terms this purification of the soul can only take place through the constant and sincere remembrance of God through prayer and meditation. As mentioned in the Introduction, proximity to water can open up our souls to Divine grace thereby aiding us in this remembrance.” (Emma Clark, “The Role and Significance of Water in the Islamic Garden,” p. 70)

Water makes life possible, both physically and spiritually, felt by humans through time. As we look into its depths and freshness, we see our own depths, and life, where we may find God.

But we don’t seem to treat water as reflecting our souls, or as life-bearer.

The one-hour presentation by Lutheran theologian and ethicist Larry Rasmussen, given at Gustavus Adolphus College summarizes beautifully all these issues (www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vcp56IvCwf4).

In one hour he gives facts about the world’s water crisis, which has occurred between 1950 and 2000, due to industrialization and world-wide consumption. The Earth’s water supply always remains the same; but only 1 percent of the world water is fresh. But one billion people lack fresh water to drink and climate change is making water sources more vulnerable. There is a precipitous decline in fresh water species—between 1970 and 2005, 35 percent of 458 fresh water species declined. And, remarkably, the US water footprint is largest in the world: it takes 766 gallons to produce a tea shirt; 2,867 for jeans; 15,000 for each couple pounds of burger beef. There is much we can do (watch the video to find out!).

Dr. Rasmussen ends with a quote from retired Congregationalist minister John Ames, of Gilead, Iowa, the central figure in the wonderful novel Gilead, by Marilynne Robinson, a memory that leads Ames to his beautiful reflection on baptism and water:

“You and Tobias are hopping around in the sprinkler. The sprinkler is a magnificent invention because it exposes raindrops to sunshine. That does occur in nature, but it is rare. When I was in seminary I used to go sometimes to watch the Baptists down at the river. It was something to see the pastor lifting the one who was being baptized up out of the water and the water pouring off the garments and the hair. It did look like a birth or resurrection. For us the water just heightens the touch of the pastor's hand on the sweet bones of the head, sort of like making an electrical connection. I've always loved to baptize people, though I have sometimes wished there were more shimmer and splash involved in the way we go about it. Well, but you two are dancing around in your iridescent little downpour, whooping and stomping as sane people ought to do when they encounter a thing so miraculous as water.”

Let’s all of us whoop and dance because of the miracle of water!

Nancy

Water Reflections from Vermont

Water Reflections from Vermont

I now sit every day next to a stream, river, or the lake. I watch, and listen and pray. I seek God’s living water, Jesus Christ, in actual Vermont water.

Two weeks ago, with a friend, I walked Potash Brook, for two hours. (To prepare, I met with Teage O’Connor, who teaches Eastwoods Natural History at UVM and knows Potash Brook, which flows through Eastwoods, then behind my house, and then about 2 miles further into Lake Champlain at Red Rock Point). Teague had laid out three two-hour walks for me, penciling into my journal the walks’ ends and beginnings, especially where to choose to follow the brook under Interstate 89 and Route 7 (or alternatively walk over land). 

My friend and I entered the Brook beyond the Swift Street power lines. In sneakers, we navigated boulders, mud, quiet sun lit patches, and thigh-deep water, always meandering slowly. Birds and the sound of interstate traffic mingled with our reflections: “This is wonderful; we used to play in streams for hours as children; why aren’t more people, especially children, in the water?”  

 We followed the tracks of a raccoon, distinguishing its marks with a ruled track finder. The little animal had walked along the banks, into and out of the water. We watched iridescent dragon flies. Mid-point we stopped for fifteen minutes just to watch the reflections of trees and sun, silently. A beautiful day, ending at Klinger’s Bakery parking lot, with a feeling of gratitude for family and friends, for all the love I’ve received in life.  

[photo of Potash Brook]

Then last week, I drove to Richmond on a friend’s advice and sat at the Winooski River for an hour, deep in ferns. I wrote:

“Light shimmering, birds skimming, blue and green light,a cloud, gentle breeze, summer (the beauty of water)”

The Richmond Rivershore Natural Area, where I sat, not far from the historic Round Church, is “distinguished by Ostrich Fern and canopy of silver maple,” and is a rare river floodplain forest. I perched my little canvas chair “lean” in ferns on the riverbank and watched. After about one-half hour, a Green Heron suddenly landed on the dead branch above; at first I had trouble distinguishing it from a kind of living stick with a topknot; then I saw its yellow eye, or, rather, its eye saw me, and rotated and glinted; with the sun on it, I felt small, beneath a direct, unpitying, almost unnatural gaze.

Yesterday morning  I finished reading Episcopal priest Cynthia Bourgeault’s book The Wisdom Way of Knowing: Reclaiming an Ancient Tradition to Awaken the Heart. I reflected on how important what I now term “in between spaces” are in our lives. I’ve had them, as hopefully everyone who reads this blog has: for me they include sabbatical, Italian vacations, time in nature, meditation, being with a beloved, reading, reverie, worship. These moments of deep repose, where we are open enough to become closer to our deepest selves, can occur when we are caught up in something, when we may feel like we are no more than playing. They can occur as we lose ourselves, when we pay full attention.

Consider Mary Oliver’s poem: “It doesn’t have to be/The blue iris, it could be/Weeds in a vacant lot, or a few/Small stones; just/Pay attention, then patch/A few words together and don’t try/ to make them elaborate, this isn’t/ a contest but the doorway/into thanks, and a silence in which/another voice may speak.”—Mary Oliver

I long to pay attention and to hear.

Yesterday was my third Vermont water outing. This time I drove south.

After enjoying the Otter Creek waterfall at Vergennes [photo], I drove up Sand Road and hiked to the bluff at Kingsland Bay State park. (“Lake Champlain’s cobble beaches, cliffs, limestone cedar bluffs and rich oak-hardwood forests are the main features at this 1.5-mile lakeshore preserve. Marine fossils have been found in some of the shoreline bedrock. There is a deer yard and a number of rare plants, including autumn coralroot, golden corydalis, blue field madder and veiny meadow rue [from Places to Walk, Paddle and Explore in Vermont, The Nature Conservancy, 50^th anniversary edition]."

I waited for the sounds of the lawn mower on the grounds of historic (1790) Hawley House to subside as I hiked to the endpoint through the woods. I watched the lake through the trees on the shoreline cliff for an hour. I wanted to pay attention, as in Mary Oliver’s poem.

Luther’s definition of worship came to mind. “Our dear Lord himself may speak to us through his holy Word and we respond to him through prayer and praise.” Again, I felt deep respose and a deep sense of God's love.

The Bible teaches that the Word (God's voice) is (speaks to us) in all things (John 1:3;  Colossians 1:15-16). Do we pay due attention?