It must be the light. It must be the quality of the light, early in the morning, these days that causes the birds to sound so cheerful when I'm walking down the driveway to pick up the newspaper. Or, perhaps, it is the fact that there is light earlier in the morning. The birds' animation is certainly not a reaction to the temperature: this morning it was only 28 degrees. But somehow, they know that Spring is on the way.

Noticing the birds, paying attention to them (even before my first cup of coffee!) is paying attention to God's grace that comes to us new each day.

The past two middle-of-the-nights, when I've gotten up to take my medicine, the sky has been so clear and the moon has been so bright shining in through the windows that I haven't had to worry about bumping into furniture! (It's a waning moon. There will be a new moon in a few days, and then the next full moon comes only one day after the vernal equinox, and two days before Easter Sunday.)

Noticing the moon, paying attention to it is paying attention to God's grace the comes to us new every night.

Even though it's still cold, and even though Summer is still months away, as the birds and the moon open me to God's grace, it reminds me of a poem entitled "The Summer Day" by Mary Oliver.

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean --
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down --
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

I've been in a Beatles mood the past few days, after seeing the very clever movie "Across the Universe" (a musical about the 60s; all the songs are Beatles songs). So, while getting ready in the morning, I've been listening as my iPod plays all the Beatles' albums, in alphabetical order. I've heard "A Hard Day's Night" and "Abbey Road" and "Beatles For Sale," and now I'm into "Help."

This morning I again thought of my high school speech teacher, Mr. Simmons. I think of him every time I listen to "I Need You" off the "Help" album, because of how often George sings, "I needchew." Among the many things Mr. Simmons taught me in high school was the admonition to speak distinctly: "need you," in this case, rather than "needchew."

Over the years, many who suffer from hearing loss have expressed appreciation that they can understand me because I do speak words distinctly. That's a compliment that I was hoping Mr. Simmons would hear. In 1991, when I moved back to my hometown of Wilmington, DE, to become pastor of St. Stephen's Lutheran church, one of the first visits I made was back to my old high school (now I'm sounding like a Steely Dan song!), to find out how I could contact Mr. Simmons, to thank him for how he had formed me, and to tell him that I had become a professional public speaker. I knew he would be way beyond retirement age. I was very sorry to hear that he had died. So he never knew the extremely important influence he had had on me.

I've kept in mind how important it is to be a model for those coming along after us. I'm sure it's true for you and me too: that we have influenced many people and don't even know it. To put it in explicitly theological language: God has used (and continues to use) us in ways we're not even aware of.

Today has been a day of sabbatical -- reading, praying, reflecting. I'm looking forward to three months of this, when my sabbatical begins on May 19. I'm being guided in the theme of my sabbatical by questions such as "What's the direction of my work as pastor of St. Stephen over the next five or six the years?" and, "What is God doing in our congregation? How can we recognize that and take part and build on that?"

I've actually begun my sabbatical reading, during hours that I've been able to grab for that. The first book was very stimulating, exploring some ancient faith practices of the church, and how they can be interpreted and used in fresh ways for our 21st century. I'm now into a book suggesting ways people can become pilgrims through the life of a congregation. (The premise is this: pilgrims are different from tourists, or from nomads. Rather than wanting to escape their real lives (like tourists), or dabbling (nomads), pilgrims learn the language and rhythms and practices of the faith, embracing the faith life more deeply in order to be transformed over time by the Spirit, by participating in the life of the congregation.)

It will be interesting to see what the Spirit brings about, through the reading and the praying.

As my sabbatical emphases are taking shape, I am given perspective by the visit I made yesterday to the congregation I served before moving to Williamsburg. St. Stephen's, Wilmington, Delaware, is both my home congregation, and the people I served when I returned, as pastor, 1991-2001. I was there yesterday for the funeral of Jim Ammerman. Jim was important to me as an adult role model in the congregation during my growing up years. And then, when I returned as pastor, he was one of the most supportive and involved members of the congregation. He cared deeply for the health and well being of the congregation, and very much appreciated a pastor doing well what a pastor is supposed to do.

So, before the service, I was greeted effusively by many, many people who are precious to me from both my eras in the congregation. I sat in the worship space and looked at the font where I was baptized. I looked at the stained glass windows that I memorized as a child. I found, in fact, that most of my thoughts and memories were rooted in my childhood. I found myself grieving my own father as well, who was another strong leader with Jim in the congregation.

In fact, I received a wonderful compliment of my father from one of the long-time members of the congregation. The congregation is struggling these days, because of problems with pastoral leadership. This long-time member said, "I often think, 'I wish Red Ballentine was around. He'd help us get to the bottom of this.'" I was just overwhelmed and made proud by the compliment. My Dad did have a rare ability to enter into a conflict and work to broker a resolution that would be a "win-win." That was a testament to his management abilities, and his integrity. And, over the years he had proven that he had high expectations of a pastor, as someone personally hungry for the gospel; and that he had high expectations for the quality of a congregation's life. That was his agenda, rather than any personal aim. But he was trusted at a deeper level than that. I think it might have been because he had such a humility about him. He was very reluctant to take credit for himself. Instead, he'd say something like, "I just go in there and wave my arms around a little bit, and hope that people smarter than me can figure out how to get it done."

And so, my day in Wilmington evoked quite a number of emotions and memories -- of childhood formation, and of some good I was able to do there as pastor. Driving home gave me several hours to process it all. As I got closer to Williamsburg my thoughts and prayers gave way to thankfulness that God has called me to work in this place now, and among the people of St. Stephen (no "'s"!) in Williamsburg. I'm sure that, in my prayer, re-visiting how God used me during the 90s in Wilmington will help me discern how God will use me in the next stage of my work here.

In this month's Atlantic magazine, there's an interesting graphic with a few paragaphs about "Clogged Arteries" in our nation's metropolitan areas. You may have seen articles about this before: that our road, rail and air networks are congested and aging, which is causing us to fall into a competitive disadvantage with other nations in the world. It costs more to deliver goods when they're stuck in traffic. Productivity suffers when folks are stuck in airports.

According to the Atlantic piece, "The cost of congestion, including added freight cost and lost productivity for commuters, reached $78 billion in 2005." In the Washington, D.C. area, $2.3 billion was lost.

Tonight, I'll contribute about a hundred bucks to the total for 2008. I need to be in Wilmington for a funeral that begins at 11:00 tomorrow morning. When traffic flows, Wilmington is five hours away by car, and so, theoretically, I could leave at 5:00 AM tomorrow and get there in plenty of time. But if I leave Williamsburg at that time -- or anytime in the morning! -- I'll hit rush hour (more like three hours of rush!) when I get to, say, Fredericksburg and points north. How long, do you think, it would take to get to Wilmington?

What I'll do is leave tonight, after the Lenten service, and drive as far as I can before I need to collapse into a motel room (there's the $100). My plan is to get north of D.C. and Baltimore!

And then, let's see, after the funeral and a very short time of visiting with the family and friends, if I leave Wilmington by 1:00 PM, I ought to just beat rush hour in D.C. on the way home. Right?

This morning's Virginia Gazette is full of letters and essays about Gene Nichol's resignation that are passionate and partisan and full of wild charges. The editors of our little town's "newspaper" (read "rag") love that kind of stuff! It provokes passionate and partisan wild charges in response, that they can print in the next edition! (And the really wild stuff that's sent into the "Last Word" piles on even more.)

In fact, the wildest charge in this morning's paper was actually produced by the editors themselves, in a "news" article. Here's a letter to the editor I just sent in. (Chances are they won't print it. They've never printed the letters I've written that have been critical of their journalistic quality in the past.)

To the Editors:
It's just the latest demonstration that the Virginia Gazette is not a serious newspaper: the fact that you created a top-of-the-page "news" story out of an anonymous phone call from a crackpot alleging a "conspiracy" ("Nichol called a victim of top Catholics who trapped him into bad choices"; page 5A, issue of February 16, 2008).
Good grief.

Pastor Andy Ballentine
St. Stephen Lutheran Church
Williamsburg

This morning, while pedaling in, I spotted the funniest bumper sticker I've seen in a long time:

"I'll bet Jesus would have used his turn signals."

SPRING TRAINING begins today!!! Tra-la, tra-la.

Do I care that there is snow on the ground this morning? No! Because pitchers and catchers report today!

Students, faculty and staff in an uproar over the pain of the Board of Visitors not renewing Gene Nichol's contract, and Gene resigning abruptly with an e-mail that poured gasoline on the fire? All of that pales in importance compared to the gatherings of men in spring training camps who make a baseball look like a BB when they throw it!

The fact that tonight will be the fifth consecutive evening I'll be out, working, and that my work load has been relentless for weeks and weeks? Who cares! I can get on line each morning to check the Phillies news each morning from the Inquirer and Daily News and pretend that I'm not exhausted!

A few weeks ago, my Uncle Bob sent me an e-mail reporting that a friend was suffering from "electile dysfunction." This is a malady preventing a voter from being aroused by any of the candidates!

The person suffering from this affliction must have been a Republican. The Democrats have the opposite problem. Hillary and Barack's supporters are zealous and fervent. (The delightful David Brooks writes in this morning's New York Times: "Have you noticed that [Obama] is actually carried into his rallies by a flock of cherubs while the heavens open up with the Hallelujah Chorus? I wonder how he does that.") The problem for the Democrats may be that when either Hillary or Barack prevail for the nomination, that the loser's true believers will be so bitterly disappointed that they won't support the winner with much enthusiasm.

Of course, that's already happening among the Republicans. I was as stunned by the announcement that Mitt Romney was quitting the race, as his audience was at the annual Conservative Political Action Conference. That leaves the Republicans with John McCain, who is too middle-of-the-road to inspire ferver. The strong emotion among the Republicans seems to be anti-McCain! James Dobson, of Focus on the Family, declares that he won't vote for McCain in the fall. (As far as I'm concerned, that reflects very well on McCain! And I keep wanting to call Dobson "Pat Dobson"; but that's because Pat Dobson was a pitcher for the Orioles.) Another divisive ultra-conservative, Tom Delay, said yesterday that he was not sure whether he would vote for McCain over a Democrat in the general election. Delay said, "If he continues down to be the same old John McCain that used to have disdain for the conservatives, then I'm not sure who's the most dangerous to be in the White House."

This year's nominating process is just too much fun! In the midst of it, there's a tantalizing possibility dangling in front of us: that whoever is elected President in November will actually want to reach across the aisle to find consensus solutions to the daunting problems that face us. John McCain and Barack Obama have worked this way their entire careers. Hillary Clinton has done this during her years in the United States Senate. What a refreshing improvement that would be in our nation's politics!

But I'm not assuming that would be the case. After all, remember how the current President Bush promised he would govern in that way, when he was running for his first term?

Ash Wednesday. "Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return."

Ash Wednesday is one of the most demanding days of the year for a pastor -- and I didn't get enough sleep last night. I woke up early because my head was so congested. It's either the third cold I've caught this season, or the same one that's never gone away. I've had a lingering cough for weeks. It could be, after my illness, that my respiratory system will be my body's weakest point, and that I'll be susceptible to catching colds. (Or, could it all be coincidence?)

I'm prepared for Ash Wednesday. My sermon is written. Michael and I have planned the service. But Ash Wednesday is so early this year that I still don't really believe it's here! I will go to the noontime service at St. Martin's Episcopal, to receive my ashes and the sacrament and the Word -- (To be on the receiving end in a worship service! What a treat for a pastor!) -- and the Spirit will impress me with the reality of this day.

The bike club newsletter arrived yesterday, including the much-anticipated mileage figures of the various riders who care to boast about their obssession. My total for 2007 was 2,572 miles. That placed me 17th among club members. I'm proud of my total (even more so than two years ago, when I was up over 3,000 miles and higher in the club ranking) because, of course, I was unable to ride at all in January, and most of December was so cold that I thought it prudent to stay inside and to use my indoor peddling machine.

Strength! Vigor! I returned to work on February 1 a year ago. My illness and recovery is no longer a frequent topic of conversation. But yesterday, at the monthly local Lutheran pastor's meeting, a colleague told me, "I prayed for you a lot when you were sick, but I have to tell you I didn't expect to be sitting next to you someday at a meeting." It reminded me of the time one of the doctors in our congregation told me that there was a day when my numbers looked so bad that she thought that was the day I was going to die. What strength, what vigor God has given me in my recovery!

But still. "Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return." That is the reminder of Ash Wednesday. And it is a reminder of grace. Why? Because I'm only a temporary worker in the kingdom, and so I don't have to burden myself with worry over "success." The work belongs to God. God is the one who continues. And even on Ash Wednesday we are Easter people: we know that our life in God continues, even after we return to dust.

Today is a partial day off. I've only had a few partial days off over the past couple of weeks -- mostly because of emergency pastoral care needs. I have to be careful to take care of myself in this job that could consume every waking moment of every day. That's especially true with Lent beginning the day after tomorrow.

This morning I've been relaxed since waking to receive the gift of a new day. The coffee and homemade muffins were wonderful. I read and journaled over a chapter of a book I've been working through: Journeymen: A Spiritual Guide for Men, by Ira Kent Groff. (You know how you have a book on the shelf for months and months and even years, and for some reason you're moved to take it down and open it, and it turns out to be speaking precisely what you need to be hearing? That's what's been happening through this book over the past few weeks. Experiences like this almost makes a person believe in the activity of the Holy Spirit, huh?)

I've also done the final editing on my sermon for the Ash Wednesday worship. I need to do the commentary reading for this coming Sunday's sermon. And I need to lead the prayer study tonight. But the afternoon will be free. I'll get out on my bicycle!

What a surprising Super Bowl last night! It was surprising because it was a great game! Usually I'm disappointed with the Super Bowl. There's so much hype, for days and days -- and then what follows is just another bad football game that I turn off sometime in the third quarter. But what fun last night: a historic upset, not decided until the final seconds!

And I watched it on our new TV. It's a hand me down, actually, from Robin Hudson, our congregation's Director of Family Ministries. Robin inherited the 26 inch TV her mother used to watch, and she was going to give away her older 26 incher -- and I said, "I'll take it!" It's an upgrade over the 19 inch model we bought during the mid-1980s, and which has been the only TV in the house. We'll give that one away now.

Maybe someday I'll write a book -- on how to live in simplicity, as a Lutheran Franciscan!