Our eco-spiritual practice for the month (and, indeed, for the year) is a Phenology Wheel. This is what I wrote about it for the Godspace website:
At Burning Bush Forest Church, we meet once a month for outdoor worship, and once a month for a learning/serving/action/community building event. To supplement those events, we offer an eco-spiritual practice of the month for people to explore on their own. What is an eco-spiritual practice? There are a variety of ways this could be defined, depending on who you are and how you approach ecospirituality. As a Christian pastor and spiritual director, I see eco-spiritual practices as invitations to explore and deepen our spiritual lives through activities that invite contemplative connections with creation and creative or embodied expression of our response to God’s presence there. To some, they may seem far from a typical prayer practice, but as I read somewhere, anything can be a prayer when we bring that intention to it. eco-spiritual practices invite us into the wondrous, to nurture our spirit and connect with God. The eco-spiritual practice we are currently exploring is creating a phenology wheel. Phenology is the study of cyclic and seasonal natural phenomena, especially in relation to climate and plant and animal life. A phenology wheel is a way to record what we are noticing in the circle of the year. To make it a spiritual practice, an added element of recording the liturgical calendar or a spiritual insight connected to each month, adds another layer of paying attention. Because it is a wheel, you can begin this practice at any time of year. I first discovered the phenology wheel in 2016 (on the Raising Little Shoots website), the same year I founded Burning Bush Forest Church. It appealed to me as a personal practice to aid in deepening my own awareness of God’s activity and presence with me in nature as I led others in outdoor worship. I sensed that if I was going to be leading a different kind of worshiping community I needed new and different kinds of spiritual practices to ground me in my ministry. It was an enlightening experience, one that opened me to engaging with the cycles of nature in ways that also nurtured my faith. To engage with this as an eco-spiritual practice, create your own template using whatever you have on hand – I used the back of some scrapbooking paper, a dinner plate and a ruler to create my template with a bit of trial and error (This time around I am switching to watercolor paper). Or, use this template. Once you have your template at the ready, turn your attention to what you notice around you each month. Take leisurely walks, gaze out the window, notice weather patterns, track the changes in daylight or moon cycles, watch for wildlife. See what captures your attention and take time to connect and reflect. To quote Mary Oliver’s Instructions for Living a Life, “Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it.” Pay attention each month to what astonishes you. What captures your curiosity? Observe the ordinary and the unusual. Then tell about it through creative expression. You may want to take pictures or keep a journal through the month to help you notice patterns or significant moments. When the inspiration hits, or at the end of the month, pull out your template and whatever art supplies you have on hand. Use the outer part of the wedge to express what rises to the surface when you think about connecting with creation this month. Don’t worry about your artistic ability – this isn’t for show. Use the inner part of the wedge to somehow record what resonated with your spirit or interior life this month – a ritual, a holy day, particular words, a mood. Is there any intersection between what you are noticing and the liturgical season you are in (if you are from a tradition that follows liturgical seasons)? Does your experience bring to mind a scripture verse or line of poetry? Does it inspire a prayer? Does it have anything to show you about God’s presence and revelation in creation? Be playful, open-minded and open-hearted with this practice. My hope is that this practice
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As this year turns to the next,
Bless the passing of time, God, whether we like it or not. Bless children growing right before our eyes, our ageing bodies and ageing parents. Bless the presence of each moment, and the movement of hours turning into days, weeks, months, seasons, years, lifetimes. For the year behind us, may we be graced with memories. Give us hearts large enough to hold heartaches, resilient enough to accept losses, and content enough to be grateful. For the year ahead, give us open hands and open minds. Help us embrace growth and beauty, unknowing and paradox. Bless the good earth who grounds us, and horizons that give us space to see. Bless the sun who travels the globe each day, and the moon whose change night by night is perceptible. Bless the water with is many forms, modelling change and transformation. Bless the sky and its moods, brilliant and drab and everything in between. Bless us with rituals that bring shape and meaning to our days. Bless us with companions who provide connection and comfort. Bless us with hope in a future with light, love, and laughter. - Wendy Janzen Our December worship gathering, as always, combined themes from the Advent season and the coming winter solstice. It is no coincidence that we celebrate Advent when we are at the darkest point of the year in the Northern Hemisphere. The return of the sun symbolizes the coming of the Light of the World, Emmanuel: God With Us. While we want to be mindful of not polarizing light and dark, or demonizing darkness, we do acknowledge that there is destruction and brokenness in the world; as a result all of us, and all of creation is in need of hope and healing. This is what we celebrate as we light candles and wait for the sun’s shift back toward lengthening days. Just as there are different types & stages of light, twilight, and darkness, we experience light and darkness differently in our own lives. The intensity of darkness varies. Perhaps it is a constant companion - one you are more or less comfortable with. Perhaps it is a veil that you long to have lifted. Both light and dark play important roles in our lives and in creation. “Sing, starry sky and every constellation, for what the Eternal One has done. Shout for joy, dark soil underfoot and deep caverns below; Erupt in joyful songs, mountains and forests, and every tree in them! Sing joyfully, for the Eternal One has rescued Jacob; the splendor of God will be revealed...” (Isaiah 44:23, The Voice) Leah invited us into a time of wandering with this invitation: "Sometimes when I enter into our wandering & wondering times, I find having a phrase or words to repeat to myself…kind of like a mantra. So today I offer you the opening line of the song The Sound of Silence by Simon & Garfunkel, which says 'Hello Darkness, my old friend'. We invite you to use that phrase as an invitation to lean into the darkness today during your wanderings & wonderings." After wandering and sharing with each other, we listened to this song Find the Light by David Ramirez as we lit candles. Our closing blessing was A Blessing for Traveling in the Dark by Jan Richardson: Go slow if you can. Slower. More slowly still. Friendly dark or fearsome, this is no place to break your neck by rushing, by running, by crashing into what you cannot see. Then again, it is true: different darks have different tasks, and if you have arrived here unawares, if you have come in peril or in pain, this might be no place you should dawdle. I do not know what these shadows ask of you, what they might hold that means you good or ill. It is not for me to reckon whether you should linger or you should leave. But this is what I can ask for you: That in the darkness there be a blessing. That in the shadows there be a welcome. That in the night you be encompassed by the Love that knows your name. - in Circle of Grace: A Book of Blessings for the Seasons, Jan Richardson Oh! What wonder
that I should be graced to witness a small flock of singing starlings suddenly fall silent, and as if one body lift from the branches. A singularity floating, swooping, soaring to music I cannot hear, but see. An orchestra with wings. A drab grey canvas brought to life with poetic movement. A performance of the ages, with an accidental audience of one star-struck human awed by the glory of it all. Bless you, Starlings, for the exquisite wonder and delight you bring to the world. Bless you for honouring your calling and praising with your bodies. Bless you for showing us the beauty of community and being part of something bigger than ourselves. - Wendy Janzen This month we gathered together to practice lament, recognizing that grief work helps to build our muscles for grieving when we find ourselves in the depths of grief. Though it is a vulnerable thing, lament is best done in community.
This passage from the prophet Isaiah seemed like it was written for today, as we carry grief for the violence and injustice happening in Gaza and Israel, and recognize that violence impacts both people and the more-than-human world. Isaiah 33:7-9 (The Message) But look! Listen! … men weep openly. Peacemaking diplomats are in bitter tears… The peace treaty is broken, its conditions violated… The very ground under our feet mourns, the … mountains hang their heads… and the forests… ? Bare branches. We suffer together with all creation. Wars and disasters decimate people, land, water, and the creatures who live in its wake. For our wandering & wondering time, we were invited to take time to be attentive to the heartaches and injustices of the world, of our lives, and of the land. Where is God in the midst of grief and injustice? Great Mystery, God of Peace, we stand together in community with all creation, living and dying and longing for new life. Receive our tears. Lighten our hearts. Heal our sorrows. Carry us forward. Amen. Here in Southern Ontario, October is a month of abundance - gardens, farmers markets, and orchards overflow with vegetables, fruits, and herbs.
In John 10:10 Jesus said these words - “I came so everyone would have life, and have it abundantly.” This kind of abundant life isn’t measured by productivity and success, achievement, wealth and power. This abundance looks more like shalom - fertility of the land and the wellbeing of all inhabitants - human and more-than-human alike. This kind of abundance is characterized by peace, gladness, and joy in having enough to share. To live well, to live abundantly, we must overcome division and isolation and recognize that our own flourishing depends on the flourishing of all in the community of creation, of neighbours near and far. In the closing lines of Wendell Berry’s poem, The Wild Geese, are these words of wisdom: Geese appear high over us, pass, and the sky closes. Abandon, as in love or sleep, holds them to their way, clear, in the ancient faith: what we need is here. And we pray, not for new earth or heaven, but to be quiet in heart, and in eye clear. What we need is here. Take time to wander, and to reflect on what is here. Where do you see abundance? How are you experiencing abundance in your life? What wisdom is this season offering you today? We remember that sometimes there is an abundance of pain, sorrow, heartache, injustice, and that, too, needs to be named and honoured. I go outside,
and my mind expands as far as the horizon, as expansive as the sky. Boxes keep things tidy, contained, appropriately small. I think we like to keep God in a box, sized to our liking, neat and organized. Outside, I am bigger than my self. God is bigger here, too, more obvious, more mysterious. God teases me: Over here, look, listen: Do you recognize me? God blows through my body and shines on my skin, sings with the cicadas, and delights my eyes with colour and texture. I lie in the grass and want to stay forever, even when the ants tickle my legs. I am held in this moment between history and future, vultures soaring above, microbes multiplying below, living their own holy moments. No takeout box can capture the extravagant excess of this numinous experience. I can only take bits with me, in my being, not in boxes, gifts of my becoming. - Wendy Janzen Our September worship gathering was cancelled due to a thunder storm.
Our theme would have been Gelassenheit - a German word used over the centuries by Christian mystics, Anabaptists, and now eco-theologians and environmental ethicists. It is often translated as yieldedness, though some other words might be composure, tranquility, serenity, unhurried, calm, easy-going, and laid-back. Gelassenheit is a form of releasing ourselves from our egos or from anthropocentrism, and opening to mystery and connection with the world around us, with the divine among us. As I was thinking about the turning of the seasons, this idea of yielding came to mind. Summer yields to Autumn; the lighter half of the year yields to the darker half of the year; flowers yield to seeds, leaves yield to the earth, growth yields to dormancy. This kind of yielding is happening all around us. “The idea of “waiting” in Gelassenheit is distinguishably different from our normal idea of waiting for something that is named, and is more about waiting upon, which has the feel of a gift being bestowed. … What Gelassenheit offers is the opportunity to look at another way of being… By letting that which is apart from us come to us on its own terms rather than on ours, we are in a listening mode whereby objectification ceases. An experience reaches us from beyond. … In silence and listening things come out to meet us.” (Sharon Harvey) Set aside some time to go outside and open yourself to what is happening around you - wait upon creation, wait upon God's wisdom, and see what happens. “Be still and know that I am God.” - Psalm 46:10 All around us, we see summer yielding to autumn. What lessons might we learn from adopting a similar posture? A little prayer inspired by a daily chore and the mysteries that happen as my food and garden waste transforms into fertile soil.
Bless these scraps these left behind treasures. Bless this little pile of transformation where death and life intermingle and miracles happen. Amen. - Wendy Janzen Our August worship gathering began with a picnic, moved into a tree identification walk, and ended with our worship gathering. We took time this month to better get to know the trees who host us each month at Bechtel Park. Among the trees we identified were three varieties of oaks, black walnut, beech, ash, black cherry, maples, ironwood, hemlock, and willow. Our worship theme was inspired by this blog post written by an acquaintance of mine, Ragan Sutterfield, called the Hospitality of Oaks. “The Lord appeared to Abraham by the oaks of Mamre, as he sat at the entrance of his tent in the heat of the day.” - Genesis 18:1 Ragan points out that oaks are the most hospitable trees. They provide acorns, of course, to feed birds and squirrels. But their generosity extends far beyond that. Oaks are the exclusive larval host plant for over a hundred different butterfly and moth species. That means that the caterpillars of these insects can only eat the leaves of oak trees. Such an abundance of caterpillars also means an abundance of food for birds, many of which rely on them to feed their young. The bark and branches of the oak is also a favourable place for other life to grow, from lichen and moss to ferns. The hospitality of oaks is not only on the outside, either. As they mature, oaks tend to hollow out, creating a space for animals in the enclosure of the tree’s healthy and living outer layers. Given their abundant generosity, it was a grove of oaks that were the real hosts of Abraham’s encounter with God at Mamre. It was the oaks that provided a hospitable space for Abraham’s tent, and in turn created a hospitable space for him to encounter God through welcoming three visiting strangers. Abraham was only able to extend hospitality to the visitors because he first received hospitality from the oaks. During our wandering time, we were invited to engage with a tree - any kind of tree. Reflect on its hospitality, and the gifts it has to offer. Or reflect more generally on the hospitality this forest offers you today, or recall a memory of a particular tree that has nurtured you in a particular way. In all of this, how does the hospitality of trees invite us to encounter God, and God's hospitality toward us? What can we offer in return? |
AuthorReflections, poetry, prayers, photos, and resources written by Wendy Janzen unless otherwise noted. Archives
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