THE GOD PATH

Mount Arbel (L) & Mount Nitai (R) from The Sea of Galilee

Valley of Doves, Mount Nitai Israel

Footprints, North Carolina

It’s been said that God is not so much to be seen as to be felt.  When we desire to encounter God, we would like to verify him immediately by an empirical method.  But you cannot meet God this way.  God is found in the gentle breeze perceived by Elijah.  The senses that find God are the ones St. Ignatius called “spiritual senses”.  Ignatius asks us to open our spiritual sensitivity to “encounter God beyond a purely empirical approach.  A contemplative attitude is necessary:  it is the feeling that you are moving along the good path of God and love of all things in God-this is the sign that you are on this right path”. .

I too have felt the divine presence in the vocal breezes of Colorado’s Mesa Verde canyons and the solitude of my own backyard.  Our biblical heart is characterized as one of our spiritual senses.  Jesus illustrates this in the Beatitudes when he told the five thousand that the pure in heart were blessed, for “they will see God”.  Hence, the expression that we can experience God with “the eyes of our heart”.  And just as we need relationship with one another to be human, we need contact with God to be fully human. 

Charles Wesley preached that our spiritual senses are the “inlets of spiritual knowledge”.  Our intellectual senses such as rational and common sense can take us so far within the limits of the human mind and our emotional heart can extend our reach to the doorstep of faith.  We may never fully know God, but we can know enough.  One of humanity’s great thinkers, Blaise Pascal, observed that “We know truth not by reason only, but by the heart.  The heart has its reasons which reason cannot know”.  The ultimate paradox seems to be that we must seek God so that He will ultimately engage in divine self-disclosure, one human at a time.

Many of the trails I’ve hiked in the mountains involved beautiful vistas and others were more treacherous paths along a rocky ledge.  Thomas Moore writes that “This is the goal of the soul path—to feel existence; not to overcome life’s struggles and anxieties, but to know life first hand, to exist fully in context.  Spiritual practice is sometimes described as walking in the footsteps of another: Jesus is the way, the truth, and the life.”

PS:

I took the photo in The Valley of Doves walking on a path almost certainly followed by Jesus and his disciples between Nazareth and the new excavations of Magdala near the Sea of Galilee in the Holy Land.  This is one of the few places where Jesus walked that is essentially unchanged or has not had man-made structures erected over them.

FEELING THE SEASONS CHANGE

Daybreak White Horses, Jamestown, NC

All of life is a circle.  Every aspect of time and our own life cycle circles around.  Perhaps that’s why there is a foreboding sense when the chilling temperatures and winds of fall descend on the earth.  If the chill in the air hadn’t caught my attention, the surreal scene as I passed by a local lake at daybreak certainly was cause to pause.  The cool temperatures passing over the remnants of warm summer waters stirred white horses to rise up and gallop over the still surface.

Perhaps at this particular time of the year, all creation serves as a reminder that this life not only has beginnings but also endings for every living organism and even every material object.  It reminds us to strive to live wisely and with a positive intention so that our lives matter and we won’t squander a priceless opportunity.  The imminent fallow time of winter on the horizon reminds us to live a life that will enable us to look back on the winter of our life and not be sad because it’s over, but to smile because it happened.

SHOPPING AT THE FARMERS MARKET

Farmers Market, Colfax, NC

Like many males of our time including my two-year old grandson, I’ve had a romance with vehicles all my life.  And one of my long-standing joys in life is taking a drive to nowhere in particular on a Saturday morning with a coffee and just letting the journey play out until a great photograph possibly presents itself or I stumble onto someplace that commands my attention.

This morning was no exception as I found myself turning into the local Farmers Market on a slightly overcast and rainy October morning.  Since it was still relatively early and the weather was less than ideal, there were few customers walking around and I was eagerly greeted as I passed each stand.  As I strolled around the various marketplaces, one particular stand caught my attention.  I had recently lost a dwarf pine in my backyard that wasn’t able to adapt to its new environment of part sun and relative dryness close to mature trees, so I needed to replace it. 

A smiling woman approached me sensing that I just might bring the luck of that first paying customer of the day.  I explained what I was looking for this morning and she pointed out some small holly bushes that had bright red berries on every branch which I immediately took a liking to.  Then she set the hook for a multiple sale and told me that “I need to tell you that these female bushes will only set berries if a male bush pollinates them, so you don’t come back next year disappointed.”

She took me to the other side of her display and showed me the male bushes of the same price with the caveat that “the male bushes are pretty ugly but they will service multiple female bushes.”  Not particularly interested in purchasing a trunk full of these bushes I responded that “My goodness, if these guys are not very attractive and also promiscuous, I don’t see how the females would ever pollinate with them!”  Being a good salesperson, she replied “Well that’s because there’s generally only one male available so their options are rather limited.”  “Oh, I get it”, I said, “kind of like beer proves that God loves all of us and enables everyone to mate regardless of their looks.  Does it help to water the bushes with a good craft beer every now and then?”  “Couldn’t hurt”, she replied. 

I still didn’t buy an armful of holly bushes, but after that exchange, how could I not at least buy another bush called Asiatic Jasmine which she then showed me that could tolerate shade, remain celibate and conserve moisture so it wouldn’t diminish my craft beer supply?

PINE TREES AND WISDOM TEETH ROOTS

LAST OF THE PINE TREES, JAMESTOWN, NC

After we transferred to North Carolina from Kansas, we decided to build a house similar to the one we had left, in a development that was nearing completion.  The rather wild vegetation on the lot included about eight maturing pine trees in the back.  Our new backyard neighbor approached me during construction and noted that he had secured the services of a tree company that would remove our pine trees for the value price of one hundred dollars apiece, since they still had full access to the trees and could sell the trunks later.  After giving the offer little thought, we mentioned that “we’re from Kansas and we really like the idea of having towering pine trees in our back yard”, so they remained for a few years. 

And then as the pine trees grew out and began to lose the support and protection of their diminishing surroundings, the shallow rooted, top heavy trees slowly began to topple and lean precariously in ice and wind storms, prompting me to have them removed one at a time.  The process was slow and painfully expensive since the area was now completely built up with surrounding homes and now they are all gone.

Over the years I have had two wisdom teeth residing on the back of my upper set of teeth.  Dental technicians have complained that it is difficult to clean between these two wisdom teeth and their immediate neighbors.  My dentists have all had their eyes on these two teeth for extraction, but I’ve always responded that I like my wisdom teeth and they aren’t causing any problem! 

Then a couple of weeks ago I was innocently watching television and I got a sharp series of painful jabs in the location of my upper left wisdom tooth.  As I got comfortable with these discomforts never returning, it happened again last week, so I scheduled an appointment with my dentist for an exam.  An X-Ray quickly revealed that I needed a root canal procedure in the tooth immediately next to my wisdom tooth that I dearly have held onto for all these years.  Now that I’m finished with the root canal, I need to have the wisdom tooth removed to make way for a crown.  I suspect the other one is on the way out as well.  The final cost will be much higher than simply removing the wisdom teeth earlier.  I now realize I really wasn’t THAT attached to them!

Then it occurred to me that there seems to be a direct correlation between my decisions on both the pine trees and the wisdom teeth.  In both cases, I had the time to make a proactive decision to economically and painlessly remove the impending problem or simply kick the can down the road in futile hopes that the problem would go away.  Well, we all probably have the easy answer to that riddle if we’ve lived long enough!  So, bite the bullet and do what ya gotta do now before the end result is much more painful. 

There’s some wisdom in these sad stories and a moral about making sure your roots are fully grounded!

THE LAST DUCK HUNT

Brother Bob's Duck Camp, Wolf Creek, Kansas

I recently finished a novel loaned from a friend by Nathan Jorgenson about the passion of hunting and life.  The protagonist in the book was a dentist in a small Minnesota community that had recently lost his wife, parent and best friend in the short span of less than two years.  Towards the end of the story he had been caught in an approaching winter storm while duck hunting with his loyal lab and almost lost his life, which brought it into sharp focus.  There were a lot of parallels in my life as well including his three losses in two years as I finished the book on the eve of a dental appointment for a root canal procedure!  One of the man’s revelations during this time of testing was that “when life hurts, that’s how you know you’re alive.”   

    

The story immediately called to mind a life-threatening experience I had years ago during a late fall duck hunt in central Kansas. Myself and two close hunting companions had set out for a huge reservoir well before dawn on a cold-to-the-bone starlit night. Our truck was pulling a flat-bottomed john boat we had converted into a floating duck blind using framed chicken wire laced with long-stemmed prairie grass. We were layered in warm hunting clothes with insulated boots and our pockets were stuffed with twelve-gauge shotgun shells. The bottom of the boat was crowded with dozens of floating decoys and a sturdy anchor. Our faithful black lab, Peanuts, was shaking with the excitement of another adventurous hunt. As we backed our floating blind down the boat ramp and into the frigid waters, we could hear the rush of wings overhead and the feeding calls of the wild mallards that had arrived overnight on the northerly winds. The evening weather forecast had predicted a severe change as a Canadian cold front was expected to blitz through the Midwestern United States. That’s the kind of nasty forecast which is a duck hunter’s dream!  Dropping temperatures fueled by strong winds stirs the migratory instincts of winged waterfowl across the world—and the adrenaline of passionate duck hunters!

We cautiously steered our john boat under the setting moon along the outer shoreline for about a mile or more until we found the familiar sanctuary of a relatively sheltered inlet cove. As first light was breaking the darkness, we began to deliberately set out the anchored decoys in the shallow waters in a wide arc, allowing a center opening for incoming flights of ducks to attempt a landing into the north wind. Then we edged the john boat back into a stand of tall grasses and tree saplings opposite the bobbing decoys. Almost immediately the spitfire strafing began into the decoys. One by one we singled out the lesser point drakes to fill our legal harvesting point totals. Peanuts would just return from jumping into the cold water to retrieve a downed mallard when he was right back into the lake after another. After about two hours of a career day on the water, my teeth had begun to chatter uncontrollably as we all noticed that the winds had picked up considerable intensity and white caps were gathering out in the lake away from our sheltered hunting cove. I cast a glance at Peanuts shivering at the end of the boat as ice crystals covered his wet hair. As I hunkered down behind the grassed frame, freezing rain and sleet were beginning to accumulate on everything around us. Rivulets of ice were forming around every stem of grass protruding from the icy waters. We were left with the sobering realization that we had over stayed our welcome, so we immediately began to retrieve our decoys and head for the boat ramp.

By this time, the waves were treacherously lapping onto the side of our john boat which began taking on additional weight as water instantly froze to the grassed frames. And then it happened! Since we were trying to cling to the relative safety of the shoreline, we had hit bottom and snapped the shear pin that protected the motor’s propeller. The north wind and waves were unfortunately moving away from land, so we immediately began to drift out to the open water white caps. Our weight and heavy clothing would have almost assuredly capsized us into the frigid waters. None of us would survive if that happened and we were faced with the fate of other duck hunters of years past on this lake. I chattered a quick prayer under my frozen breath. Then my friend running the boat found one last spare shear pin taped to the underside of the motor and he quickly installed it with numb fingers and steered back to the safety of the shoreline. Survivor instincts kicked in and we all instantly realized that we wouldn’t make it if this pin was also sheared. So, I grabbed an oar and crawled over the bow of the john boat on my stomach and began probing for the lake bottom. The second the oar hit bottom I yelled into the cutting wind to steer away from shore! We had to move slow enough for me to plumb for the bottom and fast enough so that the northern winds didn’t drive us out to the deadly open water. We labored at this for about an hour as the winds increased, the temperature dropped and the freezing rain and waves continued to weigh down the boat. None of us mentioned the possibility of running out of fuel as the motor strained to maintain forward progress while we zigzagged with and against the waves. 

I would have rejoiced in seeing a ghostly spirit walking across the stormy lake to calm the wind and the waves that were steadily sinking us. But finally, the boat ramp came into view and we crippled into its shelter and safety. The truck was barely able to pull the heavily iced boat out of the water on that frigid late October day.  As the truck heater slowly began to relieve the hurt and pain of frigid skin and bones, I began to appreciate the gift of another chance at life, realizing that spirit was in the boat with us.  I understood this was my last duck hunt even though the call of migrating waterfowl on a cold October night still stirs my soul, especially when they pass by a full harvest moon.  And I now understand another revelation from the book that “the love we have for people never goes away, even when the people do.”