Summer 2000
Table of Contents
From the EditorCondor Capers
Beyond Recycling by Sonia Randall
The World's Benediction by Joel R. Kurz
On Making a Pond by Cindy Crosby
Sermon: pack light by Michael Crook
From the Boiler Room by Andrew Rudin
Spritual Jogging by Jim Ball
From the Editor
Dear friend:
This summer in Creation Care, we're reflecting on the abundant variety of Christian connections with God in the great outdoors. For much of my life, I have been blessed to meet evangelical Christians who have experienced profound moments in the back-country wilderness, under a tree in a city park, or digging in the earth of their own back yards.
And there's more. Our experiences of the wilderness and the forest and the meadow have become metaphors in our walk of faith (or is it a long hike?) We hope you'll enjoy the reflections gathered in these pages.
We continue to be deeply grateful for the support we receive from individuals in North America and around the world. I am personally delighted with the energy and intelligence Jim Ball has brought to the Evangelical Environmental Network since he became the ministry's executive director. If you're encountering Creation Care and the EEN for the first time, perhaps a quick note
Our mission
The EEN works for the restoration and enjoyment of God's creation while inspiring Christians to lead ecologically responsible lives. We strive to assess our values in light of the Bible; learn to think, live and witness responsibly; and create new earthkeeping opportunities for our families, our friends, our churches and our communities.
Our numbers
Our supporters number almost 5,000 in the United States, Canada, Mexico and other nations. We are a ministry of Evangelicals for Social Action, and we are a partner organization in the National Religious Partnership for the Environment. Our budget of approximately $250,000 annually is funded by individual contributions and philanthropic grants.
Our publications
We publish Creation Care, a well-known Christian environmental quarterly that blends careful scholarship with practical stewardship, and a variety of educational materials grounded in Scripture and centered in Christ. It is delivered free of charge to all supporters of this ministry.
More information
We have pulled together a great deal of information, and archives, on our website, www.creationcare.org and we welcome your visit. Note the change of address for your web browser "bookmarks" list: we were located at www.esa-online.org/een, and that address will still get you to us for the foreseeable future, but we wanted to simplify. Creation care is what we're all about.
Your brother in Christ,
Michael Crook
Condor Capers
I have had a fascination with endangered species for many years. Somehow, that these species were almost gone held a certain fascination for me. With the help of my botanist father-in-law, I had seen several endangered plants. Another time, at a palm oasis in the California desert, I knelt at the edge of a two foot wide stream full of small endangered pupfish and even touched one-a marvel of God's creation. Those experiences made an impact on me, but not like the California Condor.
In 1984, looking at another long, hot and often boring drive from Los Angeles to Fresno, where I was in seminary, my wife and I pulled off Interstate 5 in search of a little adventure. As we were driving my wife had read from out of the AAA book that we might see a condor from the Mt. Pinos Summit Observation Site by peering into the Sespe Wildlife Refuge where they lived. That sounded much better than the long hot road ahead of us and rather impulsively we turned off in search of the wild California Condor.
My wife Karen was "hugely pregnant" (her words) with our first child and despite that, she and I hiked to the observation point to see the condors. My wife remembers it as quite a hike too. What we saw was beautiful scenery driving in, an awesome view after the hike, and interpretive signs at the observation area telling us about condors. However, there were no condors and even the signs said it was rare to see them. Perhaps we could have seen one if we'd just stayed there long enough, but we didn't.
Many years passed, and I found myself really enjoying finding, watching and identifying birds. I had become a birder-someone who keeps a list of birds seen-and California Condor was not checked off yet. I resolved to remedy that situation, and on my second attempt to see a condor went with a fellow birder to the place where I was told they might be seen.
At this point the California Condor was being reintroduced to the wild. During the 16 years between my first and second attempts to see one, their numbers had plummeted so much that the remaining wild individuals (only 27) were captured, and a concerted effort was made to build up their numbers through a captive-breeding program at the San Diego Zoo. The chief reasons they disappeared from the wild were small numbers to start with, senseless shootings, and from eating poisoned animal carcasses. There were successes and failures, and a lot of money, time, and hours went into this rescue effort. As of January 2000, the total population of California Condors was 158 birds and 53 of those were in the wild. We, yes you and I the taxpayers, spent all that money on a big black bird that eats large, rotting mammals? Yes we did, and that is what gave me hope that I could see one of the recently released condors in the Big Sur area of California.
Area bird experts told me that the place to look was in the tops of a particular grove of redwood trees in Julia Pfeiffer Burns State Park, just before dusk. Condors had been seen there roosting for the night along with their much smaller cousins the Turkey Vultures. I was also told that if I saw one it would be quite obviously much bigger than the Turkey Vultures.
So my friend and I drove south along U.S. Hwy. 1 and parked alongside the road at just the right place to view any condors flying in for the night. From our vantage point, armed with binoculars, a spotting scope, and a bird field guide, we waited and we waited, and we waited. The sun went down on our hopes, but it had been a good day, and we had seen many other birds. So it really was a good day-it really was-but I left determined to see one of these birds. So, of course, I tried again.
My third attempt was really rather half-hearted. We were on our way to visit with my parents right after Christmas, and we had extra time for the trip and still held by now a well-aged disdain for the still hot, dry, and boring Interstate 5 route. So we chose to go down the coast along California Hwy. 1, and that brought me to the supposed condor viewing spot once again.
We had gotten off to a late start, and it was late afternoon, getting close to dusk, when we were in the vicinity of the condors. Driving down, I remembered the spot, and we did have extra time-so we pulled off the road to spend a few minutes in what I assumed was going to be a futile, but worthy, third attempt.
My three kids got out of the car (remember this is 16 years later), and so did the binoculars, spotting scope, and field guide. My wife and I scanned the skies looking for an approaching condor, and we saw lots of Turkey Vultures. Now Turkey Vultures are okay. They are large birds too, and I knew they too had been carefully crafted by God-but they weren't the largest bird in North America, and I had seen plenty of them before. So I told my children I would pay them five dollars if they were the first to show me a condor. I had never done that before, but I wanted to see a condor and that did get them looking.
Then, there it was, a smallish looking bird due to the distance; my hopes flew high with it, and I was not disappointed this time.
I spotted it first and saved myself some money. Peering through our binoculars my wife and I both watched spellbound as the condor gracefully, without the slightest trace of a wingbeat, gently glided up and over a ridge and started its final approach to the roosting area, a quarter mile away. The binoculars were good and we could see it well, but we still consulted the field guide. What it told us matched what our eyes saw.
Eventually it soared down the valley in front of us, pulled up short and landed close to the top of the redwood grove near the Turkey Vultures. The spotting scope confirmed that it was bigger - it was much bigger - than the Turkey Vultures. And I let out a whoop of joy.
Next, we lined up our kids to see this marvel through the spotting scope and they were duly impressed - though perhaps more by our delight and excitement. Perhaps their excitement was tempered by the lost opportunity to make a quick five dollars. They had seen Mom and Dad get excited about birds before - but not to this extent.
A jolt of excitement stirred in my heart when that condor cleared the ridge, and even today that condor sighting continues to feed my fascination for God's endangered creatures. That excitement fuels my desire to tell people about these rare and graceful creatures and other creatures in similarly endangered circumstances.
My hope is that my recounting of my condor capers has kindled within you a bit of hope and excitement as well. There are plenty of failures that get magnificent press, but there are rays of hope and they can be exhilarating. The return of the Bald Eagle, the Peregrine Falcon, the Brown Pelican and the California Condor tells us we can, if we act, fulfill God's Genesis 2:15 command to Adam and "till and keep," both use and preserve, the magnificent world around us. My prayer is that we will continue the good fight for God's creation-even for a big black bird that eats large, rotting mammals.
"The battle for conservation will go on endlessly. It is a part of the universal warfare between right and wrong." John Muir
Beyond Recycling
Sonia RandallSome years ago when the trash collection fees in my community increased yet again, I resolved to become more diligent in recycling. Since then I have learned how to recycle many items that aren't accepted by the local recycling centers. Some of these:
- Medical Equipment
Braces, Velcro-fastening immobilizers, Ace bandages, crutches, hospital equipment, partly filled boxes of bandages, and even outdated medicines can be used by medical rescue units. One that I am familiar with is the Northwest Medical Teams International (P. 0. Box 10, Portland, Oregon 97207. Phone (503) 644-6000). Some churches send specific medical supplies to their missionaries who are serving in hospitals. - Household Appliances & Furniture
Besides the local thrift shops, there are organizations which provide housing for the homeless, group homes for the handicapped, and homes for those recently released from prison. They often have a desperate need for beds, tables, chairs, refrigerators, and stoves. A few phone calls may put your items where they are needed.
- Clothing & Blankets
Many churches and civic organizations have "clothes closets" where people may receive needed clothing. Some specialize in children's school clothing, especially in the fall. Others, such as Crisis Pregnancy Centers, provide infant clothing and equipment to young mothers. There are many relief organizations willing to accept clean used clothing in good condition. One that I am familiar with is Lutheran World Relief International Center (1333 5. Kirkwood Road, St. Louis MO 63122-7295). Call a local Lutheran Church for information. They accept baby clothes for layettes, fabric & sewing notions for sewing kits, clothes for men and children, as well as all types of sweaters, blankets, and hand soap, even used bars of soap! (Motels & hotels, take note!). Many other churches have similar programs so check with yours. Some organizations that send shipments abroad do not accept women's clothing since American styles are not always appropriate for other cultures. Be sure to check with the receiving organization. - Books and Magazines
Many libraries have paperback book exchanges or book sales for which they accept donations. Hospitals, medical offices, nursing homes, and group homes can always use current magazines. Reading material for children is a continuing need. Some churches also send religious magazines, books, and Sunday School papers to their missionaries on a regular basis. - Used Postage Stamps
Some groups save used postage stamps and sell them by the pound. As a free-lance writer, I accumulate lots of these on returned manuscripts and donate a envelope full every year. It might take a little telephoning to churches and civic organizations to find one which has this project. - Food Labels
Some manufacturers help schools and nonprofit organizations obtain equipment in exchange for labels from their products. The Campbell Soup program is widely known and used. There are often canisters on display in grocery stores where you may place your donated labels. If you don't see any, ask at your nearest school. - Coupons
Humane societies and animal shelters can use coupons for pet foods (as well as unopened pet food in case your cat or dog has rejected some new brand). Church and civic groups often like coffee and beverage coupons if they provide it in large quantities. Food coupons are useful for small low-budget child-care centers. Larger centers may buy in quantity from a wholesaler and not need them. - Cartons
Cottage cheese, yogurt, and margarine containers can often be used by pre-schools and kindergartens for seedling projects, storing paints & crayons or other small items. Some church kitchens also keep a small supply for taking home leftovers from potluck dinners, etc. One caring woman I know puts portions of her home-made soups and casseroles into these containers to take to shut-ins who may not always bother to fix nutritious meals for themselves. - Coffee Cans
Once again, preschools, kindergartens, or child care centers may have a use for these. I know of a church group which saves them to use at an annual Christmas "cookie walk." Church members bring their favorite Christmas cookies (home baked, of course) which are displayed on trays. Customers purchase a decorated coffee can and "walk" around the tables filling it with their choice of cookies. This earns money for mission projects and also provides a nice assortment of Christmas cookies for those who do not have the time or inclination to make their own. - Paper and Plastic Sacks
These are used in quantity by thrift shops and other second-hand shops. In the summer, truck gardeners need extra bags for people to carry home the corn, squash, apples, and other produce from roadside stands. - Pictures
Colored pictures from magazines, calendars, and greeting cards are used for many art projects in preschools, kindergartens, and lower elementary grades. Religious pictures can be used in Sunday Schools and church-operated child care centers. Once again, a phone call to a teacher may be all that's needed. - Newspapers
Although recycling centers do accept newspapers, many organizations collect and sell them for recycling to earn extra money. I prefer to donate my papers to a local Boy Scout troop who use the proceeds to provide summer camp scholarships. And the papers still end up being recycled! These are usually purchased by the ton so adequate storage facilities and transportation are needed. Look around for collection bins or make a few telephone calls.
Stewardship
Not all the ideas mentioned here may be practicable in your area, but they can get you started. A little time spent on the phone can give you a better idea of what is needed in your community.
If you have lots of time (and storage space), you might even set up a clearing house for needed items, collecting them from people and seeing that they are distributed to the organizations who can use them.
Although my original motivation for this kind of recycling was to reduce my trash collection bill, the satisfaction of being a good steward of God's world has kept me at it. Now my ears are always open to hear about some organization which might be able to use something that I generally throw away.
Sonia Randall is a writer living in Corvallis, Oregon.
The World's Benediction
Joel R. KurzOn reaching its fulfillment, liturgy of worship resounds with benediction- good words for all who have entered into divine work, a holy blessing to be joined with the hymn of all creation. The wondrous Jewish/Christian canticle of praise known as The Song of the Three Children and Benedicite Omnia Opera (All You Works of the Lord) exults in the desire for all created realms to unite in the blessing of the Lord-angels, heavens, powers, sun and moon, stars of heaven, showers and dew, winds of God, fire and heat, winter and summer, dews and frost, frost and cold, ice and snow, nights and days, light and darkness, lightning and clouds, the earth with its mountains and hills and all green things growing upon it, wells and springs, rivers and seas, whales and all moving in the waters, birds of the air, beasts and cattle, children of mortals, people of God, priests of the Lord, servants of the Lord, spirits and souls of the righteous, the pure and humble of heart- what is this but the liturgy of Creation, a psalmic utterance of reverence and recognition!
Dorothy Day, a founder of The Catholic Worker, thrilled in her heart when first hearing it as a child of 10. She called all of creation to join her in this blessing throughout her life, teaching it to her grandchildren in morning prayer with many a variation from plant, animal, and human life. It is all-encompassing, expansive in breadth yet inclusive of minutiae. How fittingly St. Thomas Aquinas observed, "God brought things into being in order that his goodness might be communicated to creatures and be represented by them. And because his goodness could not be adequately represented by one creature alone, he produced many and diverse creatures, that what was wanting to one in the representation of the divine goodness might be supplied by another. And hence the whole universe together participates in the divine goodness more perfectly, and represented better "than any single creature whatever" (Summa Theologica, Question 47) Or as Simone Weil said so simply, "How can Christianity call itself catholic if the universe is left out?" Creation is a whole entity, an entirety-a faith that is catholic implies just that, living according to the whole (kata holos in the Greek). But sadly, this is where the many manifestations of Christianity have failed when humankind has chosen to divide what God has joined together.
As a child growing up in the Philippines, my eyes were opened both to the blessing of God and the bane of man. I beheld the vast sea, ancient rocks, sand strewn with coconut shells, colors of cocks and mud of caribou, orchids and guava, papaya and mango, rice paddies and bamboo huts, yet was bewildered by children deprived of food, by squatters in the filth of cities, undignified and uprooted. Creation is to bless but how shamefully it is cursed. When moving to the States, my wonder widened in a rural Midwestern place. There were acres of fields and woods, a cultivated garden and wild berries, ponds and fish, snakes and sassafras, all of which are no more. Returning less than two decades later, none of it remains-all of it is houses as far as the eye can see-no distinction, no dignity, no place for the divine. What cries to high heaven most of all is that the landholding rural congregation chose to sell its birthright, bulldozing a sphere of blessing.
Philip Sherrard has written of man's cursing of creation, "...we have invented a world-view in which nature is seen as an impersonal commodity, a soulless source of food, raw materials, wealth, power, and so on, which we think we are quite entitled to experiment with, exploit, remodel and generally abuse... Having in our own minds desanctified ourselves, we have desanctified nature, too, in our own minds..." (Human Image: World Image, p. 3). To be true to its creed, Christendom must confess a Creator in word and deed, must affirm the goodness of God's creation, and act accordingly. Not long ago a denominational foundation ran an advertisement of a pleasant meadow accompanied by these words, "while some only see a field, we see a church and a school," both of which were superimposed as a sign of progress.
If we were to collectively rid this world of the lilies of the field, could we still ponder the full splendor of the divine? Were we to deprive the birds of the air of a place to gather, would we still have room in our vaunted lives for gifts of grace? Christ has answers, as he calls us to look at the birds and learn from them, to consider the flowers in all their glory.
There is much to make one void of hope in the world's redemption, but of all the times when the Benedicite Omnia Opera is used, its crowning moment is in the Easter Vigil as a darkened night gives way to the sun's eastern rising, when a world and its Lord, so apparently dead, burst to life once more.
Joel Kurz is pastor of a Lutheran parish in Youngstown, Pa.
On Making a Pond
Cindy Crosby Water fascinates me. I'm drawn to small pools in the woods, the reflections of the trees on the surface of puddles in the road; the sun sparkling on a creeks' fluid rapids. The movement of
water, the feel of wetness as you trail your hand through it; the thunky hollow splashes of tiny Western Tree Frogs and Spring Peepers as they christen themselves in watery depths.
In "The
Magician's Nephew," part of The Chronicles of Narnia series, children make their way out of the chaotic, worry-filled place they live by slipping on magic rings. They arrive at a world- between-worlds,
dotted with small ponds. By choosing a pool of water and slipping into it, they can make their way to another place, a place that beckons, that excites, that's unknown.
New worlds to explore.
I want this magic for myself. I will make a pond.
Digging anywhere in the suburbs is an undertaking not to be underestimated by those who live in the country. Before your shovel can lift dirt, you call JULIE. Upon inquiry, I found out JULIE is not a girl. JULIE is a company that controls the labyrinth of cables and cords that run throughout subdivisions, bearing gifts of electricity, gas, telephone service, cable television. Upon phoning JULIE, an alarm call is dispatched to all utilities: "THIS WOMAN IS GOING TO DIG!" Within 48 hours, fleets of trucks descend on our driveway, bringing men in jumpsuits with their names emblazoned on the pocket ("Bob") and a truckload of marking equipment to outline their cables. Fluorescent orange flags. Spray paint. Yellow tags and ribbons.
Within 48 hours, our already rather ugly backyard is a cross between a fluorescent orange spider web and a miniature golf course. Despite the maze of flags and spray paint, I manage to find a spot by the patio that is miraculously unmarked by utility lines. With determination, I outline a seven-by-ten spot below the grassy slope at the bottom of the patio steps, and break ground. No champagne christening, or ribbons on the shovels. I chug down a Diet Coke in honor of the occasion.
A ragged, cavernous hole takes shape. Our backyard now looks like a cross between a fluorescent orange spider web, a miniature golf course AND as if it was caught in the path of a wayward meteorite that blasted into the side of the patio. A gaping, sullen hole.
Jeff comes home for dinner and surveys my handiwork. I babble nervously about the virtues of a pond, the value of attracting wildlife, the beauty of water in the landscape.
"Aha," he says. He looks pensive. He loves me. "Whatever you want to do."
In the garden books, it never talks about what action to take if you have a torrential downpour in the middle of your pond excavation. I now have a very good idea of what my finished pond is going to look like; I also have a pretty good feel for how much clay and hardpan it springs from. The water is lapping over the top of the pit, and shows no signs of draining. I still haven't got the money for a liner, and the thought of bailing all that water out is as appealing as a sitting through a Johnny Mathis concert.
Whine, whine, whine...
The week passes. Rain falls with depressing frequency. The dirt I've excavated from the yawning hole is a muddy slush pile on the patio. I never thought about what to do with the dirt I excavated when I started this project. Where do you put it in a small backyard? And why didn't I shift it before the monsoons moved in?
Uncle. I'm ready to call it quits.
New and pressing problems develop with each passing day. It looks like we may have to fence the yard in order to have a "water feature." A nearby resident gently mentions a city ordinance. In frustration, I throw a plastic tarp over the sodden chasm.
Other neighbors casually drop by and inquire about our activities. Are we having sewer problems? No, I tell them. We're adding a pond. Oh, they say, eyebrows arching, unspoken thoughts in balloons over their heads. How nice.
That's it. I'm going to fill it in. Tomorrow. I'll have a nice, double-dug flower bed by the patio. No more pond. I pull up the tarp, roll it and set it aside. Water is still lapping over the edges of the hole. Tomorrow, I promise myself. Jeff looks relieved when I tell him.
Coming back after lunch out on Sunday after church, we find a pair of mallards casing the back yard in the wet drizzle. Literally, a day for ducks. My 12-year-old daughter Jenny immediately christens them Fred and Freda. The mallard and his mate have spotted the pond in progress and been in for a short dip.
I'm bounding all over the room, I'm jumping up and down. Ducks! Wildlife! Here in our suburban yard, because of our pond. Jeff looks resigned. I go out and begin carting the dirt to the back of the shed with our rusty wheelbarrow, before I change my mind about the whole thing. Pausing to rest, I survey the situation. The pond is bone ugly. The water is cloudy, the ragged edges of the concrete patio show like the frayed edge of a rubbled cloth against one side of it. Algae is beginning to bloom in a chartreuse scum across the surface. I need a plan.
Plan A. The Formal Pond. The pond books all contain a laundry list of hardware and software you need if you are going to add a pond to your landscape. Pumps. Liners. Filters. More pumps. Drains. Boulders. More pumps. Chemicals. Tubes. Decorative Lighting. Waterfall pumps. I price these at Home Depot. I look at the checkbook balance. I mentally run the figures again. Doing things the natural way is looking attractive. On to Plan B.
Plan B. The Natural Pond. I decide to use the existing blue clay-based earth as my liner. God doesn't use a plastic liner, does he? And his ponds look great. Natural is good. Natural is the way to go. Natural fits my bank account. Natural can be cheap. Cheap is good.
I think natural. I sigh. The spinachy scum is taking on a life of its own. The life cycle of a "natural" pond includes algae bloom in the spring. In dismay, I watch my tiny pool turn from brown to lime then back again, a rotating whirligig of botanical affliction. Visitors to my backyard are polite. But skeptical. What exactly am I trying to do here, anyway, I ask myself? A fetid smell wafts from the pond. I get a whiff. I need professional advice.
Gerry, my backyard neighbor to the west who makes his living doing landscape restoration, offers advice and solace. Too many nutrients washing down from the hill, he suggests. Try plants. They'll absorb some of the run-off.
Off to the plant nursery. In giant metal bathtubs soak the plants I envision bringing my backyard ecology experiment into amicable balance. Sweet Yellow Flag. Siberian Iris. Japanese Iris. Single and Double Flowering Arrowheads-I can't choose between them. "When in doubt, buy both," is my gardening philosophy. Eden is just around the corner. More algae bloom. The morning newspaper contains an article on harnessing pond scum as a potential energy source. I consider my options. Cash is beginning to be a problem. Ecological balance doesn't come without a price, I remind myself-and look at all the money I saved not buying the liners and pumps! But still something is imperfect. A virtual snake is lurking in my Eden, although no real ones have taken up residence yet in the pond. The algae blooms again. Perhaps, suggests my water gardening book, goldfish will help.
Off to the pet store. A wall of glassed in oceans beckons. At the very bottom of the food chain, under the pricey salt-water glamour fish, is a large murky tank of comet goldfish. A bargain at 14 cents each. I take 25, rationalizing that most of them won't make it. Also reasoning that I am saving them from the fate of being feeder fish for say, a piranha, or other flesh-eating aquatic water monster.
Jenny and I float the plastic bag of assorted fish on the murky pool, and after acclimating the fish to the temperature of their new home, we release them from their plastic prison. Free at last! Free at last! Thank God Almighty! They immediately disappear into the swampy shallows. Now we see through a glass darkly. We try to see them in vain. After watching for a while, we return to the house.
Over the course of the next week, Jenny brings me a daily corpse count as one by one, the goldfish go belly-up. From 25 to 10 in two weeks. The floaters line the grassy banks, bloated, stomachs white. I skim them off the surface and put them in the compost pile, close to where we buried our two pet rabbits. From dust thou came, to dust thou wilt return. Although I'm not sure about this applicability for aquatic species.
The water level is holding pretty steady, thanks to the blue clay layer of earth that I hit about 24 inches down. I plant some Marsh Marigolds that I hope will fill in some of the bare spots where the water meets the concrete steps. The water clarity is also improving-now it's a kind of light greenish-black, which is better than neon lime green or opaque brown, and you can see the fish moving around toward the bottom.
I'm adjusting my preconceptions of what this pond will be. One thing I realize is a natural pond is not like a fountain or a pool with a liner. It will never be clear or ornamental in the way of glossy magazine garden layouts and the water garden at my local arboretum. I'm wondering if I can get comfortable with this or not. If I can change my expectations.
There are moments of serendipity amid the frustrations. This watery mud hole is a magnet for creatures I've never seen in our pocket-sized yard before. The butterflies like the mud, and they add their collage of blues, apricots, blacks and sulfurs to the earth tones of the pond. The buff-and-cream field sparrows decorate the edges, venturing out on the rocks I dropped in strategic spots along the watery rim. They splash dust from their feathers and cautiously sip microscopic drinks from their pebbled perches. Mud Daubers explore the swampy corners. Bring on the snakes and turtles, and we'll have something to brag about.
Algae blooms, then subsides. The pond plants begin to take root. Duckweed comes in, a casual hitchhiker on one of the arrowhead plants, and like a vegetative Mafia, takes over, matting the surface. Change. Metamorphosis. Mutation. Variation.
Where once was grass and muck is now is something in process, something of promise. I dip my fingers into the pond and trail them through the muddy water. Life is unsure. Hope is here. New growth. A fresh start.
Sermon: pack light
Michael CrookDay 23: Pack light for the wilderness
Reading: Luke 9:1-5
But they caught me eye the other day in Dillard's when they quoted Jesus Christ in the cosmetic section. Yup, no kidding, right there on top of a photograph of a beautiful young fashion model, they quoted our Lord and Savior, the rabbi from Nazareth. Right there, above this picture of a young, fresh-faced woman who looked like she wasn't wearing a speck of makeup, it said, "TRAVEL LIGHT." This, my friends, is a message directly from Jesus, and it's the message I want to dwell on this morning. I'm going to read from the gospel according to Luke, Chapter 9, verses 1 through 5.
When Jesus had called the Twelve together, he gave them power and authority to drive out all demons and to cure diseases, and he sent them out to preach the kingdom of God and to heal the sick. He told them: "Take nothing for the journey--no staff, no bag, no bread, no money, no extra tunic. Whatever house you enter, stay there until you leave that town."
Here I encounter the 4,002nd way that I am not at all like Jesus. Jesus packed light. I can't. And I suspect this is more than a matter of self-discipline. There's some neurosis at work, deep down in the mildewy cellar of my psyche. If you only saw how I pack for a journey, I know you would agree. And you would probably suggest a good psychologist.
I was still in college when I caught the backpacking bug. By some mysterious blessing, my childhood camping experiences with my family had not permanently alienated me from the adventure of sleeping outdoors. Those memories range from traumatic to absurd.
There was the time my father rounded a curve too fast on Virginia's Skyline Drive in the family wagon. The sudden loud sproinngg of snapping bungee cords and clothesline ropes. The silence after the hollering as we pulled over and looked back. The noses of strange children pressed to the windows of their cars as they passed. The scramble up and down the mountainside to retrieve all items that were 1. Made of aluminum, 2. Necessary for cooking weiners, 3. Plaid or 4. marked with the Coleman brand. Thank God we found all the tent pegs. It rained that night as a pack of semi-domesticated bears raided the garbage dump at the campground and wandered among the suburban family campsites, sniffing for unlocked coolers.
Or the time we went sailing in my Dad's 30-footer on a miserably hot August weekend in the Chesapeake Bay. Weekend trips on a boat designed primarily for racing and day cruises had provided my father with absolute limits on how much he could pack, and he took this discipline seriously. I think he actually counted the saltines, which, if my memory serves me correctly, was the only thing we ate, besides those tins of kippered herring stashed in the bilge. One quarter of water per person per day was all the water we carried on the BonAire. Enough to wash down saltines, but not enough for a shower, of course. Still, who would down an opportunity to spend a late-summer weekend on the water? I think we had all conveniently forgotten that August was the month of sea nettles on the Chesapeake Bay. They spawned and flocked into the upper Bay in the millions, all having an uncanny radar for finding human flesh in the water. I remember sitting in a pool of sweat during the day, the winds calm, the engines chugging out their blue exhaust, and swatting mosquitoes at night in my bunk in the bow cabin, where the temperature approximated the inside of a parked Pontiac on July 4th in Tombstone, Arizona.
None of this put me off of the dream of camping out, of leaving civilization behind, of listening to the wind in conversation with the trees. My first backpack was a big hunter-orange contraption with a painted black frame. I don't recall the brand, although Coleman is again a possibility. I bought a backpacking stove that was really nothing more than a single burner bolted onto a pint-sized gas tank. I filled it up with Coleman gas, which was billed in the literature as "extremely explosive," "highly toxic," "harmful or fatal if swallowed" and given to evaporating into "deadly fumes." This added that priceless element of mortal peril to the camping adventure. I got a two-gallon cooler with a spout and a handle that didn't even fit inside the pack, but I'd be darned if I was going to run out of water in the wilderness. I got a cheap sleeping bag that was plaid on the inside, a tent that was really no bigger than one of my T-shirts when you took away the poles and ropes, and picked up a couple dozen cans of tuna on sale down at Piggly Wiggly.
By the time I got my poncho, rain pants, two sweatshirts, a pair of shorts, several sets of underwear and an extra pair of jeans into the pack, I was looking at the same amount of weight the average infantry soldier takes into combat. Only I didn't have the guns and bullets and grenades and helmet to weigh me down.
Then, of course, I had to accessorize, as they say in the fashion industry. I got an enameled steel plate that apparently had survived the Yukon gold rush, plus a nifty set of nested pots and pans and some U.S. Army surplus flatware designed to survive atomic war if necessary. Yes, Mom, I always packed my toothbrush, and toothpaste, and a bar of Dr. Bronner's Magic Peppermint Soap. After considerable internal debate among my id, ego and superego, we decided to leave the Speed Stick at home. Mr. Id hooted and pumped his fist in the air, looking forward to the onslaught of serious B.O. My ego just figured we wouldn't meet anyone else out in the back country anyway. My superego was aghast, and vowed to make me regret this break with the standards of civilized conduct.
Of course I wouldn't want to make it through a weekend hike without my shortwave radio. There's nothing like Radio Beijing under the stars, you know. And I absolutely needed two books, just in case I finished one before running out of leisure time. Time and again the Bible sneaked in, and maybe a concordance for those nagging trailside questions (Just how many times does the word "wilderness" show up in Scripture?).
As I grew older and began to receive regular paychecks, I saw the error of my ways and worked on going farther with less. I stopped taking tuna (the empty cans tend to flavor everything around them) and started taking freeze-dried Fettucine Alfredo and Beef Stroganoff. I congratulated myself on the day I obtained a sleeping bag that weighed four pounds less than the old one. I got high-tech plastic flatware to replace the stainless steel. And I was astonished to learn that water weighs 9 pounds per gallon. So I got myself a two-pound United Nations approved water filter.
And I got a bigger backpack, this one in a much more tasteful cobalt blue with purple and red accents. This way I could carry more books, some spare batteries for my radio, a flashlight by which to read at night, and a much bigger tent, so me and all my gear could stay dry, bugless and varmint-free all night.
All of this is actually true. My backpack, when loaded, was so heavy that I would begin to sweat just looking at it. When it was on my back, I couldn't look down at my feet due to the forces of gravity. I couldn't look up at the sky for fear of falling backward. I used my peripheral vision a lot, rarely turning sideways for fear that my muscles might snap, making that horrible sound from Skyline Drive. Sproinnngg.
What was I doing? I'm pretty sure now, in the light of passing years, that my overpacking syndrome is rooted in my insecurity about the future. I want to know where I'm going. I want to know I'll have something to do when I get there. I don't want to get caught in a rainstorm without a poncho. I want to have all sorts of control on my surroundings, even if that cuts me off from hearing, smelling, touching, tasting and truly seeing God's abundant creativity around me.
I know from talking to my wife's grandmother that as we grow older, we begin to unpack and leave behind a lot of the stuff that we accumulate during a lifetime. My wife's grandmother's name is Pauline, and I knew that we had gotten close when she told me, very gently, to call her Pauline instead of "Nana," which is what her grandchildren call her. She is a woman of great faith, a faith that is unshaken as she endures a slow process of losing her eyesight. To those of us who are younger, it's very hard to witness Pauline seeing less and less as the years go by. Two years ago, Pauline had to give up her house, and a lot of its furnishings, and move into an apartment that would be easier to keep up. Now she faces having to move closer to medical care in a setting like Friends Fellowship. There will be more giving up and leaving behind, less furniture and keepsakes in her life. And her faith remains very strong. I'm sure you all have come to these milestones in your lives. I hope that somewhere in the sadness of parting with treasures you can hear some of the joy in Jesus' message.
Jesus was radical about relying on God to meet his every need. As I reflect on the miracles that he worked in his ministry-healing many, feeding multitudes-I seem to see a man who refused to plan ahead. The foxes have their holes, the birds have their nests, but Jesus sleeps, well, wherever.
And then, suddenly, Jesus reveals that this is not about being carefree, or careless. It's about really trusting God for everything. About traveling light, with the faith that God provides.
Prayer: God in heaven, be with us as we struggle with our fears and insecurities. Forgive us when we carry heavy burdens that make us stiff and slow to enjoy your love and grace. Lift from us our worries for tomorrow, and gives us this day our daily bread. In Jesus' name we pray. Amen.
From the Boiler Room
Andrew RudinWhy Congregations Cooperate on Energy Concerns
Philadelphia's Interfaith Coalition on Energy (ICE) employs me part-time. Around 1980, representatives of Philadelphia's denominations started ICE in response to the two oil price shocks in the 1970s. ICE sends its newsletter to about 4,200 congregations in and around Philadelphia. We have worked on-site with about 530 of them, solving problems with heating systems, lighting and a huge number of other issues.ICE no longer seeks financial support from any other source other than from congregations or denominations. In other words, we are sustainable for the time being. Since congregations are mostly about ministry and service, and since property committees tend to operate without outside consultants, so how do we fit in?
We fit in because ICE does things that congregations don't. We study how congregations from various faiths and localities solve common problems. In heating and cooling religious buildings, for example, the Mormons have unique solutions from which other congregations could learn. Also, compared to newer buildings, older buildings often have more intelligent ways to heat and light interior space.
We know good contractors and vendors and continue to look for others, so we can add our opinions about who seems qualified for some task and charges reasonable prices. Sometimes, this is the most important information we provide. We also negotiate prices with utilities and fuel suppliers, which is impossible for individual congregations to do. We train custodians in daylong workshops. Who else does that?
For each type of building, ICE gathers lots and lots of data, which may be our most important legacy. We have data on religious buildings from many parts of the country -- the electricity and fuel used per square foot, the sizes of boilers, types of temperature controls, age and size of building, faith of the congregation, type of lighting and so on. We have published these data several times in national periodicals.
We do experiments on buildings and publish the results. For example, we studied ceiling fans, ceramic panel infrared heaters and reflectors inside fluorescent ceiling light fixtures. Each study results in a report, both for our newsletter and for a separate publication.
We catalyze consensus among experts on specific subjects and publish those too. For example, we worked with the Associated Pipe Organ Builders of America to determine that low temperatures during the heating season are better for pipe organs than maintaining constant high temperatures. Similarly, we determined that manufacturers of cast iron sectional steam boilers usually do not recommend water treatment.
We attend trade shows, read publications, and most recently, conducted a literature search on how decisions were made about methods to heat and light old church buildings. Very few property committees or custodians have time to do that!
Similar efforts in other major cities have followed our example. But if your city does not have the sort of interfaith cooperation we have here in Philly, we can help you develop such local capabilities.
ICE is going to host a conference in Philadelphia on September 18 and 19, 2000 to nurture a network of people who do what we do. Participants will receive a binder filled with useful information from ICE and other sources. We will learn from nationally recognized speakers. Dan Holohan will discuss heating systems. John Fetters will describe lighting. Larry Spielvogel will present information about air conditioning and purchasing energy. These people are excellent presenters.
Congregations worry about energy for several reasons. They may have comfort problems, they may feel their energy expenses are too high, and/or they may want to be better stewards of the environment. Once they become interested in energy, on whom can they rely for accurate and unbiased advice? Hopefully, they can turn to participants from this workshop.
The conference will be held in downtown Philadelphia at beautiful St. Stephen's Episcopal Church near Tenth and Market Streets. A major commuter train station is a half-block away and connects to both the Philly airport and Amtrak. Chinatown, the Historic District, Philadelphia's largest indoor shopping mall, and many hotels and restaurants are all within a few blocks. You won't need a car.
To register, contact ICE at 215-635-1122 for more information and a registration form. Tuition is $250 prior to August 1, and $320 thereafter. Better still, send your check to ICE, 7217 Oak Avenue, Melrose Park, PA 19027.
Spritual Jogging
Jim BallI've been jogging for over 10 years now, and there are two essential components to my jogging. First, it is my intentional prayer time. I resolved when I took up running that I would combine it with prayer. Second, I run outdoors. I do so because there are spiritual benefits from running outdoors. I also do so because -- for me -- running indoors becomes mental torture after awhile. My standard route is about eight miles, which takes me about an hour and five minutes. There is absolutely no way I can run that long indoors: interminable boredom sets in after about 20 minutes. I consider this God's way of telling me to get myself outside.
Let me back up somewhat and highlight what I understand to be a Christian spiritual life, since my jogging is a spiritual exercise to condition me for living out such a life. A spiritual life consists of seeking to fulfill the Great Commandments: to love God and love what God loves. To be a spiritual person means to be in a loving relationship with God and with what God loves.
One of the insights that my spiritual jogging has taught me is that every moment is a spiritual opportunity, an opportunity to love God - or not to love God -with all of our hearts and our thoughts and our actions. As such, every moment is in fact an opportunity to live out the meaning of our existence: Love. Each moment of our lives is a moment in the greatest drama, the greatest journey ever conceived and brought forth into reality: the story, the actuality, of God's love for Creation and God's desire for our love. Our lives are swept up into one great movement of love. God's love. As the whole of Scripture tells us, as the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ and the giving of the Holy Spirit tells us, we begin our efforts to love God surrounded and nourished and sustained by God's love. We begin in love. We begin infused with grace - unmerited favor. Empowered by grace, guided by the Holy Spirit, the Christian life consists of fulfilling the Great Commandments, of responding back in love to God's love -- reciprocity of love.
If every moment is a spiritual opportunity to fulfill the Great Commandments, how can we begin to more fully live out each moment as God would have us do? Help can be found in three basic, simple spiritual disciplines for everyday Christian living: worship, bible study and reflection, and prayer. Such spiritual disciplines help us to develop our "spiritual muscles" so that loving God and our neighbors as ourselves becomes a "voluntary reflex," not necessarily effortless, but natural.
When it comes to the spiritual discipline of prayer, 1 Thes. 5:17 puts it simply: "pray without ceasing." Having a consistent prayer time will help us fulfill this Scripture. It's not that we only pray during our set-aside prayer time. Quite the opposite. We have such a time to help train our thoughts to more naturally turn towards God. What is a prayer time? It is a time set aside during the week to intentionally communicate with God. We come with the attitude of the Psalmist: "O God, thou art my God; early will I seek thee: my soul thirsteth for thee, my flesh longeth for thee in a dry and thirsty land, where no water is" (Ps. 63:1, KJV).
Now, how frequently do we need to have a set-aside prayer time to be consistent enough to have our thoughts more and more become prayers? I have personally found that it helps to be flexible here. For some, a daily routine is best. However, to remain faithful you must find a way to have your prayer time fit into your schedule. Since I have my intentional prayer time when I jog, this means I have one 3-4 times a week. I'm literally doing spiritual exercise and melding body and spirit together in loving God.
As I said, my runs last a little over an hour, but I'm not praying the whole time, or sometimes even a majority of the time. When my mind wanders from prayer, I gently turn my thoughts into prayers. My version of spiritual exercise helps train me to take advantage of every moment as a spiritual opportunity to choose life, to walk the path of righteousness, to become spiritually mature, to have the mind of Christ - simply put: to love God. It's not hard, it's not glamorous, it's not complicated. It does help discipline me into a conscious, intentional, spiritual existence.
But how does being outdoors help with spiritual jogging or one's spiritual life? To borrow a phrase, seeing is believing. When we are outdoors in God's creation we are surrounded by constant reminders of things to praise and thank God for. As Psalm 19:1 says, "The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands." My love for birds has been nurtured on my runs because I see them. They are beautiful, amazing creatures - and there is so much more I can discover about each one of them! When I am out on a run and I become totally preoccupied with the problems of that day or anxious about the future, a bird will catch my attention. This is not a distraction from what's really important; it's a reminder of what's really important. The sight of such beauty and wonder pulls me out of myself into praising and thanking the Creator. This inward-out and outside-in process both humbles me and reassures me that the Creator has his eye on me, just as he does the sparrow. Thus, the wonder of God's creation reminds me of the words of Jesus, "Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, or about your body, what you will wear . . . Look at the birds of the air; they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your Heavenly Father feeds them . . . But strive first for the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well" (Mt. 6:25f). As Jesus shows us, the rest of creation can reconnect us to what really matters: the kingdom of God, to which all of creation belongs.
Running outside for me deepens this inward-out/outside-in process and helps me to remember and understand more fully what Christian spirituality is all about. Christian spirituality is not an interior, personal experience for its own sake. Nor is it an exclusive "me-and-God" situation. Christian spirituality is about all of our relationships; it's about having all of our relationships be loving relationships. Literally being outside draws me out of myself. When I see other people on my run, especially those who appear to be having a hard time, I immediately pray for them. This reminds me to pray for others that I am aware of who have needs or are facing hardship or are coming upon important moments in their lives. When I see the effects of pollution on God's creation I pray for our ministry at EEN, I pray for all those working to heal God's creation, I pray for the creation itself. In this time of prayer I can safely let the outside in because I know that God is with me, because I know that it is all ultimately in the nail-scarred hands of Christ. There is no safer place to be than that.
Let me share one final lesson my spiritual jogging has taught me thus far. It is the truth of a spiritual law proclaimed by Jesus in Lk. 16:10: "One who is faithful in a very little is faithful also in much." Can I be faithful with this time? In Lk. 19: 26 Jesus goes further: "to every person who has something, even more will be given; but to the person who has nothing, even the little that he has will be taken away from him." There's not just a "use it or lose it" message here; there's also a "use it and get more" message. Without exercise, our spiritual muscles atrophy. With spiritual exercise, I just might be ready when I am called upon to be faithful in much. If I can be faithful with the time I have out on my runs, I just might be able to be more faithful in bigger things or when life gets a little tough. When I'm out there and I've run about six miles and have two more to go and it's about 9pm and I haven't eaten supper yet, and some car runs a red light as I'm about to cross the street - well I've just been given an opportunity to be faithful in my response and to practice for when real adversity hits. Times of adversity are heightened spiritual opportunities. Here we must let God's grace woo us into loving God. We must consciously, intentionally understand our own temptations to let our hearts be filled with covetousness, judgmentalism, self-pity, bitterness. These are spiritual poisons. Adversity intensifies our primary spiritual struggle: will we trust God? For we must trust God in order to love God. When your trust in God is tested, my hope for you is that you will let the sparrow teach you, that you will be reminded of the words of the One with the nail-scarred hands.