God's Eco-Bluprint for Spring

It was the first time this spring that the soil had softened enough that my bare feet were no longer walking on the earth, but in it. That cold, soft, soggy soil squished and slurped between my toes with every step. It’s no wonder that the part of our body that has the most contact with God’s creation is called our soles. For I can attest that the way to my own soul occurs when my bare soles are interacting with creation. It’s there that the inner landscape reconnects with the outer landscape. It’s there that adam (Hebrew for human) reunites with adamah (Hebrew for earth). 

My soles are caked in the mud because I am engaged in my concentric prayer walk. In doing so, I am communing with creation as though it were a spiritual director or what the Irish call anam cara (soul friend). 

I’ve found that there is an ecological and seasonal blueprint encrypted within God’s creation. And it has led to a joyful discovery that I’ve come to know as God’s Eco-Blueprint. And each season is imprinted with its own meanings and lessons. 

Springtime is a season for awakening and activating the parts of our lives that have been dormant. The warming of the earth begins to crack the wintry cocoon that we’ve been living in.  And as the Light gets to us, we’re invited to emerge and begin detoxing our minds, bodies, and souls. This leads us to feelings of new beginnings, fresh possibilities for our lives. 

For we know that the Resurrection story is one that emerges from death to new life. From deep within the earth, Christ reemerges from the muddy mess of death so that our lives and souls are made fertile again.

Spring is a time for inspiration and excitement. It cajoles us to play and be joyful. To reconnect with our childhood passions. In doing so, we reclaim feelings of joy, hope, wonder and awe. We are inspired to tap into artistic, creative expressions such as writing, painting, woodcraft, making music, and singing.  

The vernal equinox is a time when both night and day are equally balanced. We’re reminded that we too must find balance in our spiritual and corporal lives. Perhaps we feel the urge to get our hands and feet dirty again by gardening, hiking or even tackling those outside projects that have been put on hold.

It is simply a season for in which water takes center stage. Whether by rains nourishing the earth or new life breaking the waters in pregnancy, water is what creates, sustains, and regenerates life. Historically in the church, spring is the season for baptism. Perhaps you could consider baptism or renewing your baptismal vows. Even the mud, which is part earth and part water, serves as a reminder that what animated our existence were both the dusty earth and the humid vapors of breath.

And as I glance down at my muddied soles, it would be easy to live into spring’s shadow side which is not inspiration rather agitation. That’s what happens when we do not take the lessons of spring to heart. It’s easier to be agitated by muddy situations than to see the fresh possibilities waiting to unfurl beneath the surface. So, I choose to see these muddy conditions as an environment where new life is possible. So too is the soil of our own souls that have endured a season of winter are now being muddied for the new thing that God is about to do. Are we paying attention?

[Published in Messenger Magazine, March 2021]

Sing into the Dark

The June moon was full as we trekked deeper into the “back 40” wilderness area. 

Last summer’s senior high youth camp had the chance to venture deep into the woods and sit in the darkness as part of the summer theme Creation Speaks. The night hike is always a favorite for campers and this time I wanted to take them deeper… of both the outer and inner landscapes. 

I invited them to spread out and sit and listen to what creation might be speaking in those moments. (Now I must preface this scenario with the fact that we’d been talking earlier in the day about fears and the black bear that had been seen on camp property.) 

After a few minutes of sitting in silence, their fears were heightened. There was a disturbance coming from something up in the trees. Not only that but with each passing moment, it appeared to be getting closer. So, I asked them what they were feeling in those moments. Responses ranged from anxious, cautious, fearful, and even an adrenaline rush about what was out there. They kept asking me, “What is that?” And honestly at first, I wasn’t entirely sure. Something nocturnal was interested in why we were out there so late in their space. 

I encouraged the youth to shift their awareness and attention away from those feelings of fear and anxiety towards gratitude and joy. What were they most thankful for? What gives them the most joy? And within moments of the youth doing that, those unsettling noises around us ceased.

I then read from the forty-second Psalm. I encouraged them to “sing into the dark”. To let the “deep” of their soul call to the “deep” of the wildness around them. And a few of them did. Some sang quietly, others hummed. There was a clear shift in the mood of the forest that night. What had been a brooding and unsettling atmosphere was transfigured into a peaceful sense of connection with the Spirit, and God’s creation. 

One of my lifelong deep nature connection mentors has taught that we must learn to be quiet enough to distinguish disturbances in the surrounding landscape from those within the soul; to distinguish between exterior and interior wild-ness. The Psalms call to “sing into the dark” is the invitation to recognize the interior landscape of our souls. And when the darkness hems us in, we sing. And creation, acting as a mirror for our inner landscape, will reverberate with God’s lovingkindness. 

[Published in Skyridge Church of the Brethren (Kalamazoo, MI) 2023 Lenten Devotional]