Last week my parents came to the Northwest. After their visit, I can definitely say I've done everything I needed to do during my time here. I went on the (hilarious!) Underground Tour, learning about the scandalous history of early Seattle and the unique way the city was rebuilt after a fire destroyed much of then downtown in the late 19th century. This is a must visit if you come to Seattle. We enjoyed Beecher's Cheese and fresh raspberries and Rainier cherries at Pike Place Market and went on a sub-par Ride the Ducks tour... and all of that was just on Thursday!
Friday was the big hike. We drove to Mount Rainier National Park, which is south and east of Seattle. Mount Rainier is a 14,410 feet tall, "episodically active" volcano in the Cascade Range. It is a relatively young mountain (500,000 years) and towers above the surrounding mountains, which are much older (12 million years). Rainier is covered by glaciers (35 square miles of permanent ice and snow), and to reach the summit is a feat in itself, requiring training, gear, and time far surpassing that of our trio of Midwesterners. We did about a six mile hike at around seven or eight thousand feet. It was much easier than our adventures of old in the Rockies as elevation was not a problem and the trail was well-used. However, on the way back to the parking lot, we decided to take the road less traveled. A half mile or so down, covering the path was a relatively small patch of ice and snow. It obscured about 200 feet of the path and was relatively vertical down the steep side of the ridge. Only two sets of footprints were there to guide us, much more ominous than the oft-traversed patches of snow we had already plodded through. I was only about six steps out when I realized this was perhaps not the smartest or safest thing I had ever done. I began to tremble just a bit with every movement. As my backpack swung precariously toward the slope on my right, I dug into the snow above me on my left, using my fingers as ice picks. A hundred steps or so and an eternity later, I stepped onto solid ground, hands red and frozen, body shaking and relieved, spirit wanting to sit down and weep. One week later I have regained most of the feeling in my fingertips. I'm happy to say my parents did not experience this same feeling of near death on Rainier. Good for them.
Saturday we trekked to Whidbey Island, taking the ferry from Mukilteo to Clinton where we were met by Kevin Horan, my dad's cousin. He and his wife Nancy were our gracious hosts for the day. We experienced a farmers' market, Deception Pass State Park (again for me), the barley fields of the island, a fresh blueberry pie compliments of Nancy, bald eagles, prevailing winds from the west, and a backyard view of the Puget Sound from their cottage in Langley. What a day it was, the conversation and catching up not excepted!
The rest of their trip was a patchwork of experiences: church and meeting a few folks from Kansas; crab, salmon, and lovely conversation with Rob, Lee, and the hens; the Hiram M. Chittenden Locks, which link the saltwater Puget Sound to fresh water Lakes Union and Washington through canals by adjusting the water levels as boats pass between them; numerous bus rides through the city; the Olympic Sculpture Park; and Elliot Bay Book Company.
A few days later I've finally caught back up to myself and the tasks left to do in the next ten days here in Seattle.
Friday, July 25, 2008
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Prayers for Worship
Each Sunday, SMC's worship service has a time for "Prayers of the People." Someone, usually a pastor or a person on the pastoral care team, leads the congregation in prayer. Often concerns for people in the congregation are mentioned, and there's usually a time for the people to voice their prayers in a word or phrase if they so choose. Today was my Sunday to lead these prayers, which sent me into a small crisis.
What is prayer? Is God an agent in prayer? Who or what is God? Are we agents in prayer? Is prayer just a way to make us feel better? Why do we close our eyes and bow our heads to pray? And so on and so on. I will spare you my own radical, even sacriligious understandings of prayer and simply say that with a huge pep talk from Jamie, I came up with a time of sorts in which I retained my theological integrity while (at least I hope) speaking words that resonated with those who have more "traditional" understandings of prayer. This all thanks to Rainer Maria Rilke, who I really should learn more about since I invoke his words semi-frequently.
Your thoughts about prayer? I'd love to know, so please share if you have anything worked out for yourself...
July 13, 2008 - SMC Prayers
Our existence here in community is a form of prayer in and of itself. When we notice that God is round about us, that God is the ground of our being, our every word and expression, indeed our every breath is prayer. I will pray the words of a Rainer Maria Rilke poem and begin a time for spoken or unspoken prayer. I will close our communal prayers with another Rilke poem. Let us take this time to notice our God.
I.45
You come and go. The doors swing closed
ever more gently, almost without a shudder.
Of all who move through the quiet houses,
you are the quietest.
We become so accustomed to you,
we no longer look up
when your shadow falls over the book we are reading
and makes it glow. For all things
sing you: at times
we just hear them more clearly
Often when I imagine you
your wholeness cascades into many shapes.
You run like a herd of luminous deer
and I am dark, I am forest.
You are a wheel at which I stand,
whose dark spokes sometimes catch me up,
revolve me nearer to the center.
Then all the work I put my hand to
widens from turn to turn.
...
II.22
You are the future,
the red sky before sunrise
over the fields of time.
You are the cock’s crow when night is done,
you are the dew and the bells of matins,
maiden, stranger, mother, death.
You create yourself in ever-changing shapes
that rise from the stuff of our days –
unsung, unmourned, undescribed,
like a forest we never knew.
You are the deep innerness of all things,
the last word that can never be spoken.
To each of us you reveal yourself differently:
to the ship as a coastline, to the shore as a ship.
(Both English translations from Rilke's Book of Hours: Love Poems to God)
What is prayer? Is God an agent in prayer? Who or what is God? Are we agents in prayer? Is prayer just a way to make us feel better? Why do we close our eyes and bow our heads to pray? And so on and so on. I will spare you my own radical, even sacriligious understandings of prayer and simply say that with a huge pep talk from Jamie, I came up with a time of sorts in which I retained my theological integrity while (at least I hope) speaking words that resonated with those who have more "traditional" understandings of prayer. This all thanks to Rainer Maria Rilke, who I really should learn more about since I invoke his words semi-frequently.
Your thoughts about prayer? I'd love to know, so please share if you have anything worked out for yourself...
July 13, 2008 - SMC Prayers
Our existence here in community is a form of prayer in and of itself. When we notice that God is round about us, that God is the ground of our being, our every word and expression, indeed our every breath is prayer. I will pray the words of a Rainer Maria Rilke poem and begin a time for spoken or unspoken prayer. I will close our communal prayers with another Rilke poem. Let us take this time to notice our God.
I.45
You come and go. The doors swing closed
ever more gently, almost without a shudder.
Of all who move through the quiet houses,
you are the quietest.
We become so accustomed to you,
we no longer look up
when your shadow falls over the book we are reading
and makes it glow. For all things
sing you: at times
we just hear them more clearly
Often when I imagine you
your wholeness cascades into many shapes.
You run like a herd of luminous deer
and I am dark, I am forest.
You are a wheel at which I stand,
whose dark spokes sometimes catch me up,
revolve me nearer to the center.
Then all the work I put my hand to
widens from turn to turn.
...
II.22
You are the future,
the red sky before sunrise
over the fields of time.
You are the cock’s crow when night is done,
you are the dew and the bells of matins,
maiden, stranger, mother, death.
You create yourself in ever-changing shapes
that rise from the stuff of our days –
unsung, unmourned, undescribed,
like a forest we never knew.
You are the deep innerness of all things,
the last word that can never be spoken.
To each of us you reveal yourself differently:
to the ship as a coastline, to the shore as a ship.
(Both English translations from Rilke's Book of Hours: Love Poems to God)
Monday, July 7, 2008
Skagit Bay Adventure
Friday and Saturday I had the pleasure of a trip out of town. Rob and Lee own a share in a cabin on Skagit Bay close to La Conner, Washington. And it really is that they own the cabin, not the land. The land is leased by the tribe there, for the cabin is on the Swinomish Indian Reservation. The morning of the fourth, Lee and I, along with Cojack the parrot ventured north.
(Cojack found Rob and Lee a couple years ago, and they still pet sit for him sometimes. To get the full effect of what it's like to live with a parrot, you must say "Hello," "Thank you," or "Go Cojack, go Cojack, go go" in a loud, raucous, nasally voice. Go ahead. Try it.)
Beyond the parrot, it's hard to describe the experience: the beaches of smooth rock worn by years, even centuries of tides coming in and going out; the mud flats revealed by the receding tide, a far cry from a sandy Gulf beach, and the seaweed as green as it is in seaweed salad from Ken's Sushi. The rhythm of the day is a rhythm of life that has never been conquered even by the most voracious human efforts to transcend. These rocks will be here long after any of us are, as will these waters and the islands in full rugged beauty. Existential anxiety set aside for a moment, there is a more holistic oneness here that minimalizes humanity's sense of entitlement to power, knowledge, even life. Indeed I see why people fall in love with this place.
Saturday was a trip to Deception Pass on the north side of Whidbey Island. It's history is intriguing; this from the Deception Pass State Park web site:
The human history of the park dates back thousands of years, when the first people settled in the areas now known as Cornet Bay, Bowman Bay and Rosario. Eventually, the land was settled by the Samish and the Swinomish. They lived on the land until the early 1900s. During his Northwest coastal explorations, Captain George Vancouver became the first
European to identify the area near Whidbey Island as a passage, which he named "Deception Pass." A 1925 act of Congress designated the property for public recreation purposes. In the 1930s, the Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC) built roads, trails, buildings and bridges to develop the park. The name "Deception Pass" derived from Captain Vancouver's realization that what he had mistaken for a peninsula was actually an island. He named that island "Whidbey" in honor of his assistant, Joseph Whidbey, who was at his side when Vancouver realized the mistake. The captain named the inlet at which he was anchored "Deception Pass" to commemorate the error.
You can see even in the picture above how rapidly the water is moving as the tide rushes through the pass. When people serious about kayaking are learning how, I've heard they are brought here to deception pass to learn how to handle this kind of dangerous water. And it's not warm water either, even in the "heat" of summer. The bridge itself was dangerous enough for me, with my nervousness around high places. Here, rest assured, I certainly had sweaty palms and that slight lack of confidence in both the mechanical operation of my feet and the strength of the railing on the bridge.
The adventures of the weekend finished with a hike on Fidalgo Island. Douglas Fir trees were abundant, along with ferns and moss growing on the floor of the forest. It smelled like the rain forest exhibit in any zoo I've ever been to, the moisture that is trapped rarely to be touched by the sun's drying rays. Twice at lookouts we saw Bald Eagles soaring. From a distance I saw two things majestic in a different way, a rock quarry and a refinery. As it turns out even these wilds can be tamed. I suppose Seattle was once the same, overpopulated with Douglas Firs instead of people.
My attempt to create a map out of one of the pictures I took has failed, and so for now I will leave you with a picture of the cabin. Again and again as I'm here and have found new homes I am reminded of how place is a sacred and spiritual part of the way I move through the world.
(Cojack found Rob and Lee a couple years ago, and they still pet sit for him sometimes. To get the full effect of what it's like to live with a parrot, you must say "Hello," "Thank you," or "Go Cojack, go Cojack, go go" in a loud, raucous, nasally voice. Go ahead. Try it.)
Beyond the parrot, it's hard to describe the experience: the beaches of smooth rock worn by years, even centuries of tides coming in and going out; the mud flats revealed by the receding tide, a far cry from a sandy Gulf beach, and the seaweed as green as it is in seaweed salad from Ken's Sushi. The rhythm of the day is a rhythm of life that has never been conquered even by the most voracious human efforts to transcend. These rocks will be here long after any of us are, as will these waters and the islands in full rugged beauty. Existential anxiety set aside for a moment, there is a more holistic oneness here that minimalizes humanity's sense of entitlement to power, knowledge, even life. Indeed I see why people fall in love with this place.
Saturday was a trip to Deception Pass on the north side of Whidbey Island. It's history is intriguing; this from the Deception Pass State Park web site:
The human history of the park dates back thousands of years, when the first people settled in the areas now known as Cornet Bay, Bowman Bay and Rosario. Eventually, the land was settled by the Samish and the Swinomish. They lived on the land until the early 1900s. During his Northwest coastal explorations, Captain George Vancouver became the first
European to identify the area near Whidbey Island as a passage, which he named "Deception Pass." A 1925 act of Congress designated the property for public recreation purposes. In the 1930s, the Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC) built roads, trails, buildings and bridges to develop the park. The name "Deception Pass" derived from Captain Vancouver's realization that what he had mistaken for a peninsula was actually an island. He named that island "Whidbey" in honor of his assistant, Joseph Whidbey, who was at his side when Vancouver realized the mistake. The captain named the inlet at which he was anchored "Deception Pass" to commemorate the error.
You can see even in the picture above how rapidly the water is moving as the tide rushes through the pass. When people serious about kayaking are learning how, I've heard they are brought here to deception pass to learn how to handle this kind of dangerous water. And it's not warm water either, even in the "heat" of summer. The bridge itself was dangerous enough for me, with my nervousness around high places. Here, rest assured, I certainly had sweaty palms and that slight lack of confidence in both the mechanical operation of my feet and the strength of the railing on the bridge.The adventures of the weekend finished with a hike on Fidalgo Island. Douglas Fir trees were abundant, along with ferns and moss growing on the floor of the forest. It smelled like the rain forest exhibit in any zoo I've ever been to, the moisture that is trapped rarely to be touched by the sun's drying rays. Twice at lookouts we saw Bald Eagles soaring. From a distance I saw two things majestic in a different way, a rock quarry and a refinery. As it turns out even these wilds can be tamed. I suppose Seattle was once the same, overpopulated with Douglas Firs instead of people.
My attempt to create a map out of one of the pictures I took has failed, and so for now I will leave you with a picture of the cabin. Again and again as I'm here and have found new homes I am reminded of how place is a sacred and spiritual part of the way I move through the world.
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