Plaintive and Hopeful

Earlier this week, I attended an event at the Washington National Cathedral. The evening included selected readings of Rumi's poetry accompanied by traditional Turkish instruments. One of Rumi's poems was about one of those instruments -- a reed flute. For me, the sound of the reed flute was mesmerizing. At one and the same time it was plaintive and hope-filled. As Rumi suggested, these two disparate qualities are reflective of the human condition. For most of us, life is a mixture of rough seas and smooth sailing. Sometimes the rough seas go on and on and on and we naturally lament such difficulties. And yet, and yet, inside most of us is a resiliency that arises from the deep within -- a sheer, possibly tenuous, hope which rises on the stubborn will to live. Evocatively the reed flute was able to blend both the plaintive and the hopeful into one gently poignant sound and between the note-sounding and the ear-hearing the Spirit wafted past. Thanks be.

Kindom Circle and Picasso

Hanging in my office for as long as I have been in ministry is a print of a Picasso art piece. It is one of his later works -- a rainbow-colored crayon sketch of people in a big circle holding hands and a dove with an olive branch in the center. The simple lines suggest dynamic movement. The colors express joy. For me, this is an image of the kindom of God -- the "harmony of harmonies" that God is continually luring us toward. Last Sunday, I shared the print with the congregation as a visual for my sermon. Much to my surprise when the service was over, one of the members shared with me that years ago he interviewed Picasso. To quote at tried but true cliche' -- what a small world. And what a wonderful reminder of the ways that we are all pulled into the circle of life and God's love.

Breathing Room

I am recently returned home from a retreat. I journeyed to the Mandala Center outside of Des Moines, New Mexico. Yep, that's right, not a typo -- Des Moines, NEW MEXICO. It's kind of right next door to the middle of no where and it was wonderful being there. Living as close as I do to the great metropolis of Washington DC and all the surrounding urban/suburban sprawl, I lose sight of the toll the population density and the congestion can take on one, until I get away from it. As I drove up I-25 from Albuquerque, there were stretches of highway where no other car was in sight. The landscape spread out around in wide open space and the sky stretched high and tall and I could feel my being unwinding and relaxing in a way that I never do living beneath big city lights. The photo above is the view from the deck of the retreat center. Twas good for my soul to be out where I was reminded of the grandeur and vastness of God's creation. Twas good for me to be where there was lots of elbow room. Both of which are what retreats are all about -- time away from the things that crowd up every day life so we draw closer to God and regain perspective. I wonder if when Jesus went away from the crowds, he too, was looking for elbow room, wide open space, and a reminder of God's immense reach?