"Morning Poem," by Mary Oliver

Every morning
the world
is created.
Under the orange

sticks of the sun
the heaped
ashes of the night
turn into leaves again

and fasten themselves to the high branches --
and the ponds appear
like black cloth
on which are painted islands

of summer lilies.
If it is your nature
to be happy
you will swim away along the soft trails

for hours, your imagination
alighting everywhere.
And if your spirit
carries within it

the thorn
that is heavier than lead --
if it's all you can do
to keep on trudging --

there is still
somewhere deep within you
a beast shouting that the earth
is exactly what it wanted --

each pond with its blazing lilies
is a prayer heard and answered
lavishly,
every morning,

whether or not
you have ever dared to be happy,
whether or not
you have ever dared to pray.

A year ago today was, perhaps, the most bleak of my hospital stay.

I was later told that my children stopped by the hospital very early in the morning, on their way to my Dad's funeral. I have no memory of that. The sedation was so strong that I was only momentarily aware during the days. And often, that "awareness" was delusional. Man, I could tell you about some drug-induced dreams I had in that ICU!

We have kept the meticulous notes that Patty took of each day, and we've kept the sheets of paper on which I tried to communicate by writing throughout the days I was on a ventilator and couldn't speak. A year ago today my blood oxygen was at 92% only because the ventilator setting was at 100% oxygen (which, of course, cannot be maintained because of the damage that causes to the lungs). Because of the sedation, my sheet of scribblings is pretty much illegible. (Patty felt so bad that she couldn't understand what I was trying to communicate.) There are some partial words: "I can't breat." "Get a respppirret therrerpist." (It goes without saying that the respiratory therapists were not ignoring me!)

In retrospect, this was also an important day in my eventual recovery. According to Patty's notes, October 31 was the day when the infectious disease doctors determined that I did not have TB, and so the door to my room could be opened, and visitors and medical personnel no longer had to wear gown, gloves and mask. This was also the day when the docs thought of the possibility that a fungus could be causing the pneumonia. On that hunch, they started me on the IV anti-fungal drug, amphotericin B, and collected urine to be sent out to test for something called "histoplasmosis."

Dear God, creator of all that is, seen and unseen, I give you thanks for this new day. Especially I thank you for

A mug of hot coffee in the pre-dawn darkness ...

The ability to ride my bicycle ...

The beauty of the vapor rising from warm Lake Matoaka into the cold air ...

The orange-tinged light on the Bruton Parish church steeple just after sunrise ...

The chance meeting with Hans Tiefel on the road (he was jogging), the conversation and friendship ...

The clarity of the light over Queen's Creek ...

The day to come, filled with your grace and blessings.

Amen.

A year ago today my father died.

I was obviously conscious of that this morning while using the Morning Prayer liturgy from the Presbyterian Book of Common worship, and re-discovered these words, in the prayer appointed for Monday:

"We praise you, God our creator, for your handiwork in shaping and sustaining your wondrous creation. Especially we thank you for the miracle of life and the wonder of living ... "

Each day we are given is a miracle of life, full of wonder.

A rainy morning, a day off, warm enough to sit on the porch and listen to the rain. It makes for contemplation.

I have found myself thinking and praying about the type of prayer that the prayer study group has now entered into: "apophatic" prayer, the prayer of emptiness, of nothingness. This type of prayer invites us to empty ourselves of all desires because they keep us self-centered and prevent us from knowing God. This type of prayer invites us to know nothing (intellectual) about God, because we can only come to know God when we get beyond our concepts which so limit our perception of God. This type of prayer invites us to get beneath the noise (inner and outer) of daily life, because it is in the silence underneath that we come to know God.

All very mystical. All very difficult for Lutherans, with our compulsion to control, and to achieve intellectual understanding with clarity!

The prayer of nothingness can only be "described" with images -- which are unsatisfying to us Lutherans, because they don't nail down with clarity. Instead, they open up possible wider and larger meaning. To many that's frightening!(Interesting that Jesus taught, nearly all the time, using images ...)

Another image for this kind of prayer came to my mind this morning, thanks to Mary Oliver's poem, "The Waterfall": the image of gravity. Gravity, which we rarely think about, which is always there. To think of our weight, in the chair, during prayer. Sinking into the presence of God. And, there, emptying ourselves so that we can be filled by God's self.

It was one year ago this afternoon that I was taken by ambulance from my pulmonologist's office to the hospital. There, within hours, I fell into respiratory failure.

This morning I have been spending time simply being aware of my breathing, enjoying the evenness of it, the depth of it. What a gift from God: each breath.

RAIN!!! Hallelujah! We are so dry, way below normal in rainfall.

I remember well that our Theologian in Residence this year, Professor Larry Rassmussen, said that he doesn't use the phrase "global warming," because that doesn't fully describe what's going on in the world's weather ecology. To express the full scope of what's happening, he uses the phrase "climate change." He pointed out that, as one example of what he meant, that England has experienced tornados for the first time in recorded history! Significant climate change is happening.

Yesterday I read a story in the paper about the severe drought in Georgia, and that they've been slow to impose water restrictions -- because they've never experienced drought to the extent that they are now, and so they've never had a system of automatic water restrictions that kick in. Significant climate change is happening.

Our call is to discern how we can care for God's creation in this time of significant climate change. I am glad that each Sunday's bulletin has an idea of how to do that, from our "Earthkeepers" group.

These days, I am praying the Morning Prayer service out of the Presbyterian Book of Common Worship. That's not a new book. It's just that I was reminded of it when looking through the new Morning Prayer service in Evangelical Lutheran Worship. I though, "This is good! It's almost as good as the Presbyterian service!" So the latter has become part of my morning rhythm in recent weeks.

As I pray Morning Prayer, of course, it is in the context of what's going on in my life. I am very conscious that a year ago this week I descended from sickness into real crisis. With that acute consciousness, in the prayer appointed for Tuesdays, these words caught me: "Especially we thank you for strength and abilities to serve your purpose today."

Words cannot describe how thankful I am for that gift, compared to where I was a year ago.

It is all very humbling, how dependent I am upon God's gift of good health.

I got back yesterday from six days away, and I'm glad to be home. This past weekend I led a retreat on prayer for 15 people from across the Synod. It is always interesting to hear about how different the congregational settings are across the Synod. The retreat was just outside of Harrisonburg. On Monday morning I drove to Natural Bridge and spent the next three days with other Virginia Synod pastors and lay "rostered" leaders at the annual gathering of the ministerium. This is a time of nourishment: worship, learning, collegiality, fun!

I got in a couple of good bicycle rides. I spent Sunday night at a Comfort Inn in Harrisonburg and got out on the road early Monday. At 7:45 AM I was out on a tiny road in Shenandoah Valley farm country and stopped to call Patty to tell her how beautiful it was -- with the sun barely up, and flocks of geese flying overhead, and the cattle and the fields. At one point I had to interrupt the conversation because a tractor came by on the road! What a noisy machine!

In the Harrisonburg area they have something we don't have here: HILLS! Around here in the flatlands, it's easy to keep up a steady pace of pedaling with very few gear changes. Out there, though, I rode for about 25 miles, and was constantly changing gears -- because there's very little flat road. It's either up or down.

The hills around Harrisonburg are rolling. They're much steeper in Rockbridge County, down around Natural Bridge! The ministerium gathering included a free afternoon, and two colleagues and I went out for a long ride. (We created a small sensation among those who thought we were absolutely nuts to do so. For instance, the very beginning of the ride, on Rt. 11 leaving the hotel, meant climbing a steep hill. One non-bicycling colleague said, "Now, for me, it's interesting to think anyone would want to ride a bicycle up that hill.") We pedaled away as the others were making plans to go to lunch in Lexington, or to check out antique shops, or to play golf, or to visit a vineyard. The wimps.

It would actually have been helpful if one of the three of us had had some competence in reading a map. At one point, we found ourselves riding a screaming downhill. (I actually smelled the rubber of my brake pads burning as I tried to keep my speed under 30 mph.) When we got down to the bottom, we discovered that the road ended. Guess what? Wrong turn. We had to climb up that hill to get back to our course. (Hill, hell! Mountain!) Our lack of orientational ability meant that an intended 45-mile ride turned into a 54-miler. But what fun! What amazing scenery! What great stories we were able to tell that night at dinner!

Our colleagues still thought we were absolutely nuts.

Health update. I had an appointment with my pulmonologist this afternoon, which included the breathing capacity tests that I did (poorly) 54 weeks ago, as I descended into the pit. This afternoon some of my results were in the normal range for a person my age and the others were better than normal! Praise God!

I was surprised by my nervousness as I sat down in front of the machines they use for these tests! Since then, I've been bouncing around with joy.

What a treat! A night at home!

Patty and I just finished watching the PBS "Newshour." As it was ending and I heard the theme music, I vividly recalled the despair I felt in the hospital when the "Newshour" was over. What would I do to occupy myself? There was nothing else that interested me on TV, and my brain was too full of drugs to comprehend any printed material, and it would still be a couple of hours before the nurse would inject me with Atavan to make me sleep ...

Others have been thinking of "a year ago" too. This past Friday I was sitting in a pew at Bruton Parish before the funeral for Wayne Price. Wayne was a friend and colleague who died too young, from cancer. Wayne spent most of his life as a Baptist minister. But he ended as an Episcopal priest, and many of the local Episcopal clergy vested up and processed for the funeral. Just before the procession, I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was retired Episcopal priest Pickett Miles. In his uniquely direct, and even abrupt way, he said, "I sure am glad we're not doing this for you." And then he was off, down the aisle. Boy did that change my frame of mind. Intermingled with my sorrow over Wayne's too-early death was my remembrance of how close I had come to the same.

Each month I meet with a peer group of spiritual directors, at the Richmond Hill retreat center in Richmond. I'm not able to meet with them this month because Patty and I will be hosting Fr. John McNamee at our home. (He will be in town from Philadelphia to read from his poetry at St. Stephen.) When the convener of the peer group sent out an e-mail to the others informing them that I won't be with them, she hastened to write: "He is fine!! He is having the pleasure of entertaining a poet."

I wonder how long it will take for folks to relax about my health? I really do feel good. I cough seldom these days. Tomorrow I have an appointment with my pulmonologist, to talk about the latest C-T scan of my lungs, and to do the breathing tests that I flunked one year ago! I would ride my bike, but if the doctor's running late I may have to hightail it back to the church for the 3:00 PM prayer study. So I guess I'll drive my car.

Have you heard the joyous good news?

No -- I'm not talking about that Good News. (God certainly doesn't take the side of one baseball team over another.)

I'm talking about the joyous good news that the Phillies are the champions of the National League Eastern Division!!! Their first playoff game is this afternoon.

The Phillies were only in first place two days during the entire 162 game season -- but they were in first place on the last day of the season, and that's the one that counts. It was an exciting last weekend of the season in the Philadelphia area, and it was fun to be up there, since Patty and I were attending a wedding. During the rehearsal dinner on Friday night and the wedding reception on Saturday, guys were sneaking into the bar to see a few minutes of the game on TV, and bringing back reports of the score. (The bride is dancing with her father? That's nice. But what's the score??)

I got to hear nearly all of the final, clinching game on the radio, as Patty and I were driving home from Wilmington this past Sunday. For the first four innings we were within range of the Philadelphia station and when that was fading out I thought, "Hey! They're playing Washington! I'll pick up the game again south of Baltimore!" So we did.

Any of you who have driven south on I-95 know of that terribly frustrating six to eight mile backup through Springfield, VA, as the highway loses two lanes. On this trip, the backup was a gift! It delayed us enough so that I could hear the end of the game before the Washington station faded out! It was the first time in my life that I was perfectly happy in stop and go traffic.

So, I'll be in front of the TV this afternoon, for the first playoff game. To impress you with my dedication for my work, tomorrow afternoon I will convene the prayer study group, and I will spend time with the candidate for our open Director of Music position who we're interviewing later in the evening -- even though the Phillies' second playoff game will be on TV!!!

Now, back to theology. It is true that God does not take sides in baseball games. But I am absolutely sure that God has special affection for Phillies fans. That's because, in the Bible, God especially loves those who are suffering. And no fans of any team have ever suffered more than Phillies fans. The Phillies have lost more games -- by far! -- than any other team, of any sport, in history. As Casey Stengel used to say, "You can look it up!"

I've been watching some of Ken Burns' PBS movie, "The War." He's been doing a good job of interweaving personal stories, including those of African Americans and Japanese Americans, who suffered great discrimination.

It's made me think of how far we've come in social relations from what many think of as "the good old days." For instance: this past Saturday I attended a wedding. The bride was born to a Jewish mother who later divorced and married a Lutheran man. As a pre-teenager, the bride decided to be baptized. This past Saturday, she married an Irish Catholic at a ceremony presided over by an African American female United Methodist minister. It was a joyous event!

Can you count the societal prejudices that would have made the above unthinkable 60 years ago? In many ways, these are the good new days!