Holy Ground, Part Two

One of the truly  energizing experiences during my 2012 sabbatical has been the discovery of holy ground.  Often, we only think of officially sanctioned places and times—church buildings, Sunday morning worship, and so forth.  Those are included on my list, but they’ve been other, sometimes surprising places, that have made my list:

The chapel at Iona Abbey, Scotland (especially the north choir, front row, just to the right of center).

Castlerigg Stone Circle in the Lake District, UK—a prehistoric stone circle.

Pheasant Branch Conservancy, Middleton.

Fingal’s Cave, Island of Staffa, Scotland.

The oratory at Holy Wisdom Monastery, Middleton.

Driving west in my car last week, watching the sun set.

The top of Sheepstor in the Peak District, UK.

In a shady cemetery just yesterday, standing next to the graves of long-lost (and now found) relatives.

The ruined abbey church at Lanercost Priory, UK.

The White Cliffs of Dover.

The top of Tor I’, the highest point on the island of Iona.

The sandstone cliffs along Mirror Lake and the Kickapoo River.

One of the important rediscoveries of my sabbatical has been the importance of these non-traditional holy places for me.  It’s only too easy to get sucked dry by the demands of each day.  Each of these places has been like refreshing rain for my soul.  And it’s the reminder that holy ground can be anywhere, with anyone.  Fresh winds of the Spirit may blow in the most unlikely of places.

Less than three weeks remaining until I return to work.  I’m feeling renewed and refreshed, ready to hit the ground running.  But these holy places will continue to be a part of me and a source of life as I moved forward.

“We are standing on holy ground . . .”

Holy Ground, Part One

By my informal count, I visited 28 churches during my seven weeks in the United Kingdom.  This included 17 cathedrals, 8 parish churches, and 3 chapels.  I am, after all, a real “church geek,” as well as a big fan of architecture.

There were, of course, many similarities between the churches, especially the medieval cathedrals.  But there was quite a bit of diversity as well, not only in their design but also in their purpose.  Some were meant to be displays of power.  Kings and prince bishops wanted to show their subjects who was in charge.  Others were built to be bigger and better than someone else’s.  Salisbury Cathedral’s steeple is the tallest in England—so tall, in fact, that the stone pillars that supported it began to bend!  The building had to be reinforced in order to support the weight.  Still others were built to be “tourist attractions.”  They were pilgrimage sites, attracting thousands of people each year to view and venerate some saint’s relics (and leave behind a few coins for the upkeep of the church and its religious community).

But the most compelling purpose came to light when we learned that most of the cathedrals began their lives as monastery chapels.  They weren’t built large because large congregations worshiped in them.   Their congregation of monks never numbered more than a few dozen.  They weren’t built for any such practical purpose.  They were built large in order to provide a visible reminder of the grandeur and glory of God.

Few people think that way anymore.  We think functionally, practically.  What good is an extravagantly built, overly large building?  It only makes it cost more.  But that wasn’t the attitude of the medieval builders and craftspeople.  They invested their resources to produce a building that would instill a sense of awe and wonder, that would itself be an act of worship.

Each building had its own appeal.  For sheer impact, none of them could top Durham Cathedral.  Its setting—on top of a hill, inside a bend in the River Wear—is most impressive.  You approach across a large grassy courtyard, allowing you to see its full size.  Inside, the massive decorated piers that support the roof draw your eyes upward.  The long, open nave draws your eyes down the length of the church to the high altar and the rose window beyond.  The view of the tower at the crossing was likewise impressive. 

But the one feature at Durham that most impressed me, unique among all the churches we visited, was the lectern.  All the other cathedrals we visited had eagle lecterns.  The Bible or other books would be laid upon the eagle’s outstretched wings.  There is certainly religious precedent for using eagles (“But those who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength.  They shall mount up with wings like eagles.” (Isaiah 40:31). 

But eagles are also symbols of power—royal power, ecclesiastical power, even military power—something evident in the many military chapels and monuments in the cathedrals.

But at Durham, the lectern depicted something else altogether.  There, the Bible would be laid upon the outstretched wings of a pelican, shown pecking her breast in order to feed her young with her own blood.  It’s a symbol of self-giving love, of Jesus Christ, of the life he made possible by giving up his own.  Not a symbol of power, but of self-giving love.  It shall be something I always hold dear.

While we certainly walked on holy ground while visiting cathedrals, we discovered holy ground in some unexpected places.  More on that in Part Two.

I'm Back!

I'm back on US soil after seven wonderful weeks in England and Scotland.  In many ways, the trip exceeded my expectations.  It was a rare gift to be able to spend that much time in one place and to experience life as it's lived in another country.  I'll always be grateful for this opportunity, made possible by a three-month sabbatical.

Still, there was a part of my plans I wasn't able to fulfill--I'd hoped to provide regular updates here of our itinerary and experiences.  But with a balky computer and less-than-reliable Internet signals, I simply wasn't in a position to do so.

So now, as a sort of retrospective, I'll share some of those experiences--complete with pictures--in order to give you something of the flavor of those seven weeks.

Check back here regularly to read more about it!

Healing what ails you

“Spirit of the living God, present with us now,

enter you—body, mind, and spirit—

and heal you of all that harms you.

In Jesus’ name.  Amen.”

On Tuesday night at Iona Abbey, a Christian community on the site of an ancient Christian monastery off the coast of Scotland, there was a healing service. 

For many Christians, a healing service is a foreign and even forbidding thing.  It smacks of superstitious faith and the manipulative religion sometimes seen on television.  I must admit to harboring some of those thoughts as well.  But on that evening, whatever objections I had were overcome as I watched dozens of people come forward, kneel on one of the twelve pillows arranged in a circle, and receive the laying on of hands and a prayer of healing.

Some went up for themselves, for the healing of physical or emotional pain or illness.  Others went forward on behalf of others, people who were facing illnesses or difficulties of their own.  Still others went forward on behalf of people in faraway places, affected by war and poverty.  But up they came, waves of people hungry for healing and hope.

I know.  I went forward myself.

I’m not quite sure why I did.  When the invitation came for members of the congregation to kneel on the pillows, I held back.  I watched as the first dozen came forward, followed by two or three dozen who surrounded them.  As I watched them come and listened to the words of invitation and healing, I knew I wanted it for myself.  I’m not suffering from any serious disease or facing a major crisis in my life.   But like most people, I often feel less than whole, less than adequate, less than the person I'm meant to be.  Can prayers like these change all that?  I don’t know, but I’m willing to try. 

We all returned to our seats, heard the final blessing, then walked out in the evening twilight.  Had I been healed?  Maybe, maybe not.  But the sense of peace in my soul was something I’d like to experience more often.  As the prayer put it, I did feel that the Spirit of God had entered me—body, mind, and spirit—and that I had indeed been healed.  Even if it's not healing, it's close enough for me.  Thanks be to God!

Driving Right . . . on the Left

Last year, as we began making our England travel plans, we decided that we wanted to drive during our month-long trip.  We made the decision with some seriousness, but without really knowing fully what it would mean.  Well, now we have a much better handle on its benefits and challenges, but they weren't the ones we'd thought of.

The most obvious difference between home and the United Kingdom is that in the UK they drive on the left. The cars are also made with the driver's seat on the "wrong" side.  That proved to be the least of my problems (although, once or twice, I did walk around to the left side of the car and try to drive it from there).  We rented a car with automatic transmission to eliminate the need for me to shift with the left hand.  But after that, everything for the driver is the same as it is in the US--turn signal on the left, wiper control on the right, etc.  


The other concern I had were the traffic circles that are present in far greater numbers than in the US.  This also proved not to be a problem.  Since everyone over here is familiar and quite comfortable with them, traffic flows very nicely.  We just have to remember to look to the right!

But there was one major difference I hadn't even thought of until I got behind the wheel and started driving.  I had no good idea how far away from me the left side of the car was.  This became a significant issue because of the narrowness of the British roads.  Compared to back home, they are very narrow!  Gravel shoulders do not exist in the UK.  Rather than shoulders, they have curbs--even on the major highways.  They also have no rules about how close objects can be to the roadway.  We've been on many roads where a hedge, a stone wall, or even a building were tight to the roadway.  In addition to operating the satellite navigation system (lovingly named "Sophie"), Steph's job has been to watch the left side to make sure I didn't scrape against anything.

I understand why things are that way in many places.  These roads came into being when people drove narrow pony carts or road on horses.  And some of these hedges and walls are a thousand years old or more.  And of course, they can be quite picturesque.  I just wish I didn't have to drive past them.

And rules governing street parking are hard for me to understand.  Not only do they have narrow roads and streets, but they allow street parking without actually providing an extra lane for the purpose.  This means that parked cars are usually filling over half of the driving lane, so the driver has to straddle the center line.  This is a particular challenge when there are cars parked on both sides or if there's oncoming traffic.  Why couldn't they simply restrict parking only to one side and then redraw the lane lines?  I don't get it.

We've discovered too that UK drivers are more courteous than US drivers.  There's much more of a "we're in this together" attitude than the "take no prisoners" one back home.  When encountering a narrow stretch of road, one driver graciously yields to the other.  Then, as they pass, they wave to one another.  Much more cooperative, far less competitive.  I like that.

It took a while to decipher the road signs and figure out how everything in the car worked (after many minutes of searching, it turns out there's no trunk release inside the car).  Now, after more than three weeks, we're quite comfortable in our car.  In a few days, we'll be returning it at the airport in Manchester.  Won't the rental clerks be surprised when we turn it in with no additional scratches!

Our travels continue

Greetings from rainy Plymouth!  After a busy couple of weeks, yesterday was more of a "down day."  With our friend Stuart as our travel guide, we visited some local sites (including the Pilgrim Steps).  Today, we hope to do some hiking in Dartmoor just outside the city, if the rain holds off.

Since my last update, we've seen: cathedrals in York, London, Norwich, Winchester, and Salisbury; a boat cruise on the Thames; the White Cliffs of Dover; the Tower of London; the British Museum; Stonehenge; and so much more.  A comprehensive list would be long, but that would hardly do justice to the trip. I've been impressed with the great age of the places we've visited and all the history they've seen.  Can you imagine regularly worshiping in a church that was nearly 1000 years old?  How about living in a castle that was visited by Henry VIII?  I've always been a history buff, so to stand where some of the greats from the past have stood has been quite meaningful to me.

But it's the present-day people that continue to impress the most.  We've been warmly received by so many people--not only the people we've stayed with but total strangers we've met.  There were the two older women we sat next to at Canterbury Cathedral last Sunday, the woman at the coffee shop in Bere Alston yesterday, the young mother and toddler in the tea room at Penshurst Place, and the man in London who helped us find our way, among many.  They've been cordial, helpful, and excited for us as we've discovered new things.

We have one more week before Steph returns to the US and the second phase of my trip begins.  After our hike today, we head toward Bristol, visiting Glastonbury and the Wells Cathedral along the way.  Next week, we'll go to Bath and Stratford-on-Avon, before returning to Manchester for Steph's flight home on Friday.

In my next post, I'll on some of the differences between the US and the UK I've noticed--particularly driving!

Across the Pond

They say that, when travelling, you should expect the unexpected.  That's certainly been my experience so far on my England trip--both good and bad.

Fortunately, the bad has been fairly minimal.  But one bad thing directly affects my updates to this journal.  About the third day into our trip, the wireless feature on my laptop stopped working.  I've been able to send and receive emails from my phone, but it's next to impossible to send out longer messages like this. 

Because of that, these updates won't be as frequent as I'd hoped.  It'll depend on the availability of alternate delivery methods (right now, I'm at a post office that has computers with internet access).  I'm keeping a separate journal, so as time and circumstance allows, I'll post things from that.

The other bad thing has been the weather.  It's rained almost every day.  Today will be only the third sunny day we've had.  It's rained all the rest--not non-stop, but at least intermittent drizzle.  Some days, it has poured all day.

Still, we haven't let the rain get in the way of our plans.  The rain has been only a minor nuisance amid the series of extraordinary experiences we've had.

We began our trip in the Lake District, a beautiful, mountainous region in northwest England.  It offered quite a baptism of fire for me behind the wheel.  The roads were busy, narrow, and usually lined with stone walls.  I know I missed some glorious scenery because I needed to keep my eyes on the road!

We did have the opportunity to do some hiking, and from the tops of those mountains we had some glorious views.

While in northern England, we saw two of the oldest things we'll see on our trip: Hadrian's Wall and the Castlerigg Stone Circle.  The Wall was build in the early second century and its foundations are still standing in most places.  Steph took a picture of me, standing on the Wall (in the pouring rain).  I'll post it when I can.

The Castlerigg Stone Circle is even older--dated 2500 to 2000 BC.  It's an oval ring of stones erected in one of the most spectacular settings I could imagine--the top of a mountain, surrounded by even taller mountains.  Religious experiences in such a place wouldn't be hard to come by.

We've seen something like eight cathedrals (defining that term fairly loosely) during our visit so far.  Like Castelrigg, they certain inspire religious feelings.  The high, vaulting ceilings, the long naves leading to the high altar, the beautiful stained glass.  My personal favorite is in Durham, but there are plenty of others that would rank high on anyone's list.

One odd cathedral encounter: when we arrived at York Minster, they were laying sod in the nave!  That's right--grass in a church!  There was some sort of funraiser later in the week.  Very strange.

We're in London now.  We worshiped at Westminster Abbey, visited St. Paul's Cathedral and the Tower of London.  Today, we're off to the Changing of the Guard. 

Each day has been full of exciting and interesting things.  I'll tell you about them when I can.  Now, if only I can figure out how to get my laptop onto the Internet again . . .

Ready, Set . . .

The day has finally arrived—the day of our departure for the British Isles.  After a year and a half of planning, today’s the day we leave.  At 1:00 pm, we get on a bus that will take us to Chicago’s O’Hare International Airport, followed by a seven-hour flight to Dublin, then a one-hour one to Manchester, UK.  By Saturday night, we’ll be in the Lake District!

Our three children came over for dinner last night so that we could describe our trip in greater detail and give them final instructions.  As much as we don’t want to think about it, it’s important for them to know where to find our wills and a list of our assets and debts.  Someone needs to know when the plants should be watered and how to get in touch with us if need arises.

One of the problems with a long-anticipated trip such as this is the anticipation itself.  The traveler can be filled with such a sense of expectation that they miss out on the actual thing.  Or, the contrast between their expectations and the reality can lead to real disappointment.  The trick is to truly be “in the moment,” to experience the world as it is, rather than as we’ve imagined it to be.  England, after all, isn’t a museum but a place where real people live—people with jobs and homes, with parents and children, with hopes and dreams, with attitudes and opinions.  There’ll be the cathedrals and castles and sites of ancient battles to see, to be sure.  But there’ll also be the shopkeeper and bartender, the person in the checkout line ahead of us and the family at the next table.  They might truly be the most interesting part of our trip.

Now, “the final breath before the plunge.”   I need to change the furnace filter and clean the rain gutters.  The laptop on which I’m writing these reflections needs to go into my backpack, the power cords into my suitcase.  Passport, credit cards, cash, Sudoku book, magazine, trip itinerary, and a notebook to record my reflections are all packed.  It looks like we’re ready to go!

Up, Up, and Away!

In just a few days, I’ll begin my 2012 sabbatical.  The church I serve, Middleton Community United Church of Christ, included it in my call agreement in 2001—a three-month sabbatical every five years.

I certainly have some learning goals for my time away, but the more immediate and exciting one is a seven-week trip to England and Scotland.  Stephanie and I will be flying out of Chicago O’Hare Airport on June 1, arriving in Dublin, Ireland, for a brief layover, then heading to Manchester, where we’ll begin our English travels.  We’ll be visiting every part of England—north, east, south, and west—before returning to Manchester on June 29, when Steph flies back to the US.  I stay on for three more weeks—the first one with the Iona Community in Scotland and the other two in the city of Leicester, my family’s ancestral home.

I’ve been planning this trip since late in 2010, so there’s been a lot of time for the anticipation to build.  Less than two weeks until we leave—I can’t wait!

Sunday, May 20, was my final Sunday at MCC before the start of the sabbatical.  This week will be taken up with the few loose ends that remain.  Pretty soon, it’ll be the final check of our arrangements, filling the suitcases, saying goodbye to our children and families, and then—takeoff!

This blog will be my trip journal.  As often as I’m able, I’ll post descriptions, reflections, and pictures of the various destinations and experiences.  I hope you’ll be able to share the experience with us!

And So It Goes

Life has a way of surprising you.  You begin the day with one schedule and find that by lunchtime that it's out the window.  The things you thought were priorities get displaced by other things that take time and energy to resolve.  Over the last few weeks, that’s how it’s been for me.

Here’s a sampling of what's been going on:

The primary elections in the recall efforts for governor, lieutenant governor, and various state senators were held yesterday here in Wisconsin.  It has the feeling of the calm before the storm.  Last night, I heard the victory speeches of both Scott Walker, Republican governor, and Tom Barrett, Democratic challenger.  They sounded like commanders, preparing their armies for a crusade.  We’re going to be in for quite a time between now and the general election on June 5.  And even that isn’t likely to signal the end of the drama.

At the same time, I’m wrapping up things at church and home prior my sabbatical.  Starting May 26, I’ll be gone for three months, with three weeks of vacation tacked on at the end.  Stephanie and I will spend the first month traveling in England.  Steph returns to the US on June 29, but I stay behind for three more weeks, one at a retreat center in Scotland and the other two in the city of Leicester, my family’s ancestral home.  The final eight weeks will be spent back in Wisconsin, with weekend trips and other side excursions to be planned.  I'm planning to use this blog as my trip journal.  Stay tuned!

Simultaneously, my mother is in the hospital.  She’s almost 92 years old, still quite hale and hearty, but with a variety of health issues that keep cropping up.  On the one hand, it’s to be expected, given her age.  On the other, she’s my mother.  You never want to see your loved ones sick.  I’ve spoken to her several times on the telephone and plan to drive up to see her on Friday.

And as if that’s not enough, since my last post I’ve had to deal with yet another personnel matter at the church.  Those of you who’ve read this blog before know that my secretary resigned very abruptly last December.  That proved to be a major distraction for some months.  The most recent situation wasn’t a resignation, but required several meetings and consultations to be resolved.  We’re not quite out of the woods, but at least we can see the clearing.

And so it goes.  That’s how life is sometimes.  Elbert Hubbard once said that “life is just one damned thing after another.”  I believe it, although sometimes it’s one thing piled on top of several other things.

My sabbatical begins in 16 days.  I’m ready.

Mystic Chords of Memory

Whenever I see it, I know I’m home.

Castle Mound isn’t a very noteworthy hill.  It’s a long, narrow ridge, a few hundred yards long and no more than 200 feet high.  It gets its name from the turret-like rock formations that stick out about the trees at its east end.  Many travelers don’t even notice it as they speed by on the freeway below.  But it speaks volumes to me about coming home.

Last Thursday afternoon, taking advantage of an extra day off, I drove up to Black River Falls to see my mother.  I was also able to see my two brothers and their wives—Dick and Roberta for supper on Thursday, Don and Judy for breakfast and lunch on Friday.

I’ve climbed Castle Mound many times, beginning with my childhood.  We would often picnic in the park at the foot of the hill, then hike up to the observation tower.  When I became an adventurous youth, I hiked all the way to the rock turrets at the east end—a more challenging task.  Then, triumphant, we’d sit out on the rocks, looking at the cars zipping along below and gazing out across the flat, former lake bed, punctuated with similar hills and ridges all the way to the horizon.

My hikes have grown less frequent, now that my mother, nearly 92 years old, isn’t able to manage it any more.  Although Castle Mound isn’t part of her repertoire any longer, that doesn’t mean she sits around at home all day.  She’s still a whirlwind of energy, attending her bird club, Homemakers’ Club, Tuesday Club (which, naturally, meets on Wednesday), camping club, card club, church choir, and more.  I frequently don’t find her at home when I call.  Still, we all know that my mother has more years behind her than ahead of her.  That makes the time we have more precious and the need to make the trip more urgent.

I haven’t lived in Black River Falls since I finished college, 35 years ago, so that town I remember doesn't exist any longer.  Wal-Mart moved in a while back and killed the downtown--one more reason to have hard feelings toward the big, bad retail giant.  But in my mind, it’s still the same place: Ozzie Moe selling shoes, Harmie Galston selling furniture (and running a funeral home on the side), Verna Keefe directing the church choir, my Grandma Anna fussing in her kitchen.   And I think of all the generous people that have supported and enriched life there, from the major philanthropists like the Gebhardts and the Lundas to the ones whose contributions have been smaller but no less meaningful.  Lincoln once appealed to this country’s “mystic chords of memory.”  I hear that music strumming in my head whenever I walk its streets.

I recognize that my view of Black River Falls can be a bit rose-colored.  I guess that’s inevitable.  We all tend to remember the good things and ignore the not-so-good.  I’m certainly aware of the pettiness and parochialism that sometimes reared its head, making it a less welcoming, caring, and forward-thinking place than it might have been.  Still, for all its faults—if faults they be—it’s still home, and I am who I am in part because of that place and its people.  They’ll always be precious to me.

Back in the Saddle Again

I’m back!

It’s been over three months since my last post.  It was early December.  I was getting into a groove.  I had four or five good ideas for articles.  Things were great.  Things were fine.

Then it happened.

I’d taken a Thursday off as Christmas approached.  Stephanie and I were getting ready to go Christmas shopping.  I stopped by the office to pick up something I’d forgotten . . . AND FOUND THE RESIGNATION LETTER OF MY SECRETARY. 

Needless to say, it was a shock.  We'd talked about job duties and work flow only a few days before that, and she hadn’t said anything about quitting.  She’d had health issues, but seemed to be dealing with them.  Little did I know . . .

It’s amazing how unexpected events can really put you off your game.  My focus immediately changed—find temporary office help, make sure the bookkeeping is covered (one of the secretary’s duties), dust off the job description and make the necessary adjustments, figure out how to advertise, ready resumes, conduct interviews, make a hiring decision—it took a lot of energy and attention.  Although we'd hired someone by mid-January, the new secretary needed a lot of handholding in order to get her feet on the ground.  I’ve had help in accomplishing all this, but much of it still fell to me.

It reminded me of a whitewater rafting trip I went on, some thirty years ago.  The instructor told us that, if we capsize and end up in the water, just roll over on your back and float downstream, feet first, until you find a place to get out of the water.  Well, wouldn’t you know, we capsized.  I remembered my instructions, rolled over on my back, and then tried to raise my legs.  BAM—a rock hit my shins, pitching me forward.  So I tried again—BAM, another rock.  This happened four or five times.  Despite my best efforts, I never was able to get on my back with my feet out in front of me.

Life’s been like that for me over the last several months—one rock after another.  But I’m looking forward to smoother sailing from here on in.  And I’m looking forward to regular postings on my blog.  There's so much to comment on--life, family, politics, faith--I shouldn't have any trouble filling this page.

I’m back—and hope I never go away again.