Finding the Sacred In Nature

I grew up in Irmo, South Carolina which is a suburb of Columbia. Despite being in a suburb, I was lucky to have miles of woods behind my house. Early in life I grasped a sense of the sacred in nature. I sensed something unspoken in the whisper of pines as my eyes peered up at the sky through needles and filtered sunlight. I felt something magical as I broke across the rising mist in early morning walks in the bend of the Broad river. I didn't need any complicated theology to see the divine and the good in life in those moments. I could hear frogs and crickets in the evenings. I spent sun-burnt summer days building forts, and playing flash light tag among the fireflies and pines. My favorite time in the woods was to make my way to the river just as the sun broke the sky, and the mist still cast mysterious coverings against the trees. I would sit on river rocks, mindless of moccasins or the rush of the river. I look back on those wild moments of my childhood and taste a freedom I struggle to find again.


There was some elemental understanding of my connection with those woods, that river, and the pulse of life. Time was measured in how far the sun had risen in the sky, not the constant checking of cell phones and calendars. I would come home baked in mud, my mom would hose us down before she'd let my sister and I back into the house. These were simple joys and beautiful days.


Water, earth, air, fire – and spirit. So elemental and basic, yet we lose touch behind our computer screens and the pace of a hurried life. It is easy to think that we can separate ourselves, and remove ourselves from the cycles of nature. Yet, the hurricane reminds us. The rainbow reminds us. We must be reminded of our sacred connection, if we can possibly hope to find some balance in our life on this small, blue planet.


Every small action of conservation and thoughtful choice that we take in remembrance of our sacred relationship is a hopeful action.

Whether we stand in the ancient shadow of redwoods or listen to the whispering wind in a pine tree forest, it is hard to not have gratitude for the offerings of nature. Trees give shade, offer places for nests, fruit and sustenance, and hold the soil together against the rush of storm and water. Like mother's milk, our rivers course from the water's source at the tops of mountain peaks and trickle down to oceans and lakes.


Take time in this season of winter to take in the beauty of Carson Park or go for a walk by the river.

Vietnamese Buddhist Monk, Thich Nhat Hahn said, “People usually consider walking on water or in thin air a miracle. But I think the real miracle is not to walk either on water or in thin air, but to walk on earth. Every day we are engaged in a miracle which we don't even recognize: a blue sky, white clouds, green leaves, the black, curious eyes of a child -- our own two eyes. All is a miracle.”

We won't find the same miracles behind the glass of our windshield or stuck to our computer as we will find in seeing the arc of an eagle's flight. Our lives are so much more beautiful and rich when we can connect with the beauty and awe of the natural world. These are the moments we remember and that can bring us deep peace and joy.

Matter of Faith: We must welcome the stranger

Many faith traditions remind us to welcome the stranger. Yet how big is the welcome table in a post-Sept. 11 world? How welcoming are faith communities when we are divided along political, theological and social lines?

It takes building relationships, opening hearts and practicing welcome to offer a place where people can seek their truth in love. For myself as a Unitarian Universalist, welcome is the highest practice of honoring the sanctity and inherent worth of others.

How we welcome others defines our community - whether it is our family, friends or spiritual community.

It takes a risk to welcome people different than ourselves, yet when we do we are invited into new experiences and relationship.

Many faiths have tenets about welcoming the stranger. For some Christians welcome is embodied in the practice of open or common table, where all persons are welcomed to communion. This embodies the welcome of Jesus for the stranger and marginalized.

The Quran tells us, "It is righteousness to give of yourself and your substance, out of love for Allah, to your kin, to orphans, to the needy, to the wayfarer, to those who ask, and for the ransom of slaves ..." The Hindu scripture Taitiriya Upanishad tells us, "The guest is a representative of God."

A humanist might say that welcoming the stranger recognizes the inherent worth of all persons. An earth-centered standpoint might recognize that we are infinitely interrelated on a soul level with one another - even with the trees and earth that shelter and support us. On a given Sunday in a Unitarian Universalist congregation - whether atheist or Christian, gay or straight - we come together in community.

Yet welcome is a two-way street, and the respect goes both ways. The Catholic theologian Henri Nouwen said, "We are not hospitable when we leave our house to strangers and let them use it any way they want. An empty house is not a hospitable house ... When we want to be really hospitable, we not only have to receive strangers but also to confront them by unambiguous presence, showing our ideas, opinions and lifestyles clearly and distinctly."

Welcome extends inwardly as well as outwardly and must take into account safety, congregational covenant, and honoring all persons.

We must move beyond our comfort zones, enter into challenging conversations and challenge ourselves to think about who is really welcome into our lives. When we truly welcome the stranger, we invite ourselves into deeper relationship with the holy. We cross the artificial divides of belief and background and reach toward the sanctity of our shared humanity

The Hard Road of Compassion

Last Sunday I guest preached at White Bear Church on the topic of choosing awareness. I cited great thinkers like Pema Chodron and Thich Nhat Han. The idea is that if we can choose awareness to our lives and others. As we practice awareness our compassion increases and hopefully the actions of compassion follow.

Upon travelling we had left our newly adopted cat in the care of my Mother-in-law for the weekend.

We adopted Chewy and Obi from the local shelter a few weeks back. These were young cats with lots of energy and health. After a week or so, Chewy began to have signs of an eye infection. I thought it was a blocked tear duct so I tried to massage it and hoped it would clear. As it moved to both eyes we took him to the vet. He had also begun to show signs of lethargy. We were shocked when he turned up with a 104 temperature and dehydration. The vet gave him the works in major antibiotics, hydrated him with a water bag, and took tests.

The eye infection did not clear with eye drops and antibiotics. By last weekend we were very concerned about his health, he barely moved or ate. We thought he was battling the fever and tried to treat his symptoms. Upon our return from White Bear he appeared to have only improved some and yet his eyes were still infected. They took tests and eventually called back to let us know that he had strong signs of Feline Infectious Peritontis. This vibrant and loving cat who was not quite a year old was given a fatal diagnosis. We could expect him to deteriorate and have a painful death, made comfortable perhaps by drugs. He would live uncomfortably for perhaps a few weeks and months.

We made the best choice we knew to make. We chose to give Chewy a peaceful ending. Based on the advice of our vet and the information we found this was the best way we knew to exercise our love for our new family member.

Writing my sermon last week I did not know that we'd be practicing a hard form of loving kindness. It is a terrible choice and power to end life as a compassionate act. It feels kind in action, but oh so hard on the inside. We played and loved on him this morning. My five-year old hugged him and tagged him with string. My soon to be eight-year old said that he would keep him in his heart for the rest of his life.

Life is suffering, but certainly there is also joy in these moments. There is joy in the purr of loving cat. There is grace in the wisdom of children.