Most days this week I made my way over to the Associated Mennonite Biblical Seminary campus for the Theological Lectureship presentations by Marlene Kropf and Daniel Schipani.They talked of the practical theology work of spiritual formation and transformation, particularly as lived out in the ministries of spiritual direction and pastoral counseling.

It was a rich time with much to reflect on, including these painted silk banners hanging in the chapel. They are the work of Michelle Hofer, artist-in-residence at Hutterthal Mennonite Church in Freeman, South Dakota, based on the Orthodox icon by Andrei Rublev of the three angels visiting Abraham at the oaks of Mamre, generally interpreted as a presentation of the Trinity.

This photo doesn't do justice to the way the silk shimmered in the light, a wonderful sight. There were wondrous things going on outside as well, like these blossoms, or a dogwood tree that was luminescent in the sunlight.

Sunday it was warm enough for frogs to be out enjoying the sunshine at the Calendar Garden. This fellow was close enough to record, but I couldn't get a clear shot of the bullfrog that clambered up on a lily leaf, sinking it about an inch under water.

I was surprised to see that there were already tadpoles swimming about -- we'll see how well this attempt at including a video works. I love the way their little tails motor them along.

Tadpoles came in two sizes -- giant and tiny. The ones above are small. Five of the large kind found shelter on the rock below. The tadpole-looking shape in the upper left is actually the reflection of a dragonfly that was zooming around like a mini-helicopter.

Here's another bullfrog, with a host of the tiny tadpoles, those tiny black specks on the rock at the top of the photo.

Kristy Shellenberger Yordy's sermon at Assembly this morning was The colors of the new covenant -- in our midst, on our heart and she created a rainbow as she talked of the former covenants and the way their colors are woven into the new covenant described in Jeremiah 31. Daughters Sophie and Meiling helped by pouring a rainbow of M & M's into a bowl and leading the congregation in a repeated response of "The days are surely coming...when I will make a new covenant."

The rainbow of colors continued in various spots around Goshen this afternoon. It's an amazing spring -- we hardly had a trace of our usual muddy March.

In the evening we joined a worship service at Benton Mennonite, celebrating the feminine face of God as the Grower. I don't have the words of the song we sang that drew on the words of Hildegarde of Bingen, but here's another quote by her that includes her frequent theme of "greening" -- and as creation awakens this spring, and with all the resounding melody I've enjoyed today, it seems particularly apt.

Without the Word of God no creature has being. God's Word is in all creation, visible and invisible. The Word is living, being, spirit, all verdant greening, all creativity. All creation is awakened, called, by the resounding melody, God's invocation of the Word.      Hildegarde of Bingen

Jennifer Byler Youngberg painted the beautiful silk banner below as a visual for the service. And bringing the rainbow imagery full circle today, we poured a rainbow of colored sands into vases in celebration of the way even the tiniest seed and the tiniest grain of sand is held in God's love.

    For earth's cycles and seasons
    for the rising of spring and the growing summer
    for autumn's fullness and the hidden depths of winter
    thanks be to you, O Christ.
            from Philip Newell's Celtic Benediction

There's no turning back now, though our spring has arrived a month or so earlier than usual, and we may still have a blizzard in April. The seasons turn, sometimes in unexpected rhythms.

So let's celebrate the glory of quince blossoms and leaves opening, and other sights from our yard the last day or two.

    For the life force in seeds buried in the ground
    that shoot green and bear fruit and fall to the earth
    thanks be to you.                  
                                         (Philip Newell's prayer, continued)   

    Let me learn from earth's cycles of birthing
    the times and seasons of dying.
    Let me learn of you in the soil of my soul, O Christ,
    and your journey through death to birth.
    Let me learn of you in my soul this night
    and the journey of letting go.
                Philip Newell, Tuesday night prayer, Celtic Benediction

    i thank You God for most this amazing
    day: for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
    and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything
    which is natural which is infinite which is yes

    (i who have died am alive again today,
    and this is the sun's birthday; this is the birth
    day of life and of love and wings: and of the gay
    great happening illimitably earth)

    how should tasting touching hearing seeing
    breathing any -- lifted from the no
    of all nothing -- human merely being
    doubt unimaginable You?

    (now the ears of my ears awake and
    now the eyes of my eyes are opened)
                    e.e. cummings

Blessed are you, O Child of the Dawn,
for your light that dapples through creation
on leaves that shimmer in the morning sun
and in showers of rain that wash the earth.
        Phillip Newell, part of prayer from Celtic Benediction

Spring is bursting out in an exuberance of colors and way ahead of schedule around here. A mixed blessing, with fears that it will all get nipped by an early frost -- but to be enjoyed in the meantime.

This afternoon my spiritual direction peer group met at Pathways Retreat Center, combining retreat time with our monthly meeting. We spent time with the theme of fire, beginning with lectio divina on Moses and the burning bush. Janie read the passage from The Message, and the phrase that stood out for me was "blazing out."

I think I normally picture the burning bush as a compact, rather cozy little fire. This time I pictured pointy flames blazing out, which reminded me of the icon above, of Mary and the burning bush.

Later I had time for a meditative walk in the woods and found the bushes full of green blazes, appropriately for St Patrick's Day (and not a snake in sight). Our temperatures have been running about 35 degrees above normal this week, and the plants think it's spring.

I like the way walking with my camera in hand slows me down, as I take time to look more closely and to notice things I would normally rush past. I've heard of someone else who accomplishes the same thing by going for walks with a magnifying glass. I like the close up feature of my camera -- especially with these tiny plants in the moss. I included my finger in one to give a better sense of the size.

And a few more photos from my rambles at the Hermitage...

More pictures from my time at the Hermitage. The labyrinth is looking a bit flattened by the winter, but the seasons cycle and it will soon be green. Two years ago I walked it in late spring, finding a multitude of wildflowers and grasses bordering the path.

The seasons cycle and now is an in-between time, and the dried milkweed pods in the fields capture that well -- some bare husks, others still with seeds waiting to be carried by the wind, all making intriguing sculptural shapes.

A lovely 24 hour retreat at the Hermitage last night and today, a gathering of spiritual directors for three sessions led by Marlene Kropf on Into the Silence. And last night we participated in the Hermitage's monthly Taize service.

Except for the sessions with Marlene and the worship services, our time was spent in silence. Silence in terms of speech with other humans, that is. I spent an hour last evening, and another this morning, wandering through the woods and fields. It was far from silent. The birds and frogs were greeting this warm spring weather with loud hosannas.

I heard, and in many cases, saw chickadees, hairy (or possibly downy) woodpeckers, a red-bellied woodpecker, crows, redwing blackbirds, robins, cardinals, mourning doves, a rooster, nuthatches, and sandhill cranes. A single crane flew low over the retreat center this morning, not far from the bench where I was sitting and watching birds at the feeder.

I'd like to share some of the sounds I heard -- the flutter of bird wings at the feeders, or the clatter of the sandhill cranes, or the loud chorus of spring peepers on a nearby pond, but there seems to be some hitch in loading that sort of file. So here instead is a memento of something else I enjoyed - being able to spot last year's bird nests in briar patches and bare branches.

I came back home to more warm temperatures, and a tornado watch -- it must be spring. But this same turmoil also makes for some magnificent clouds. I glanced out just before sunset and then had to go outside and watch this light show sail past to the north of us.

In North Carolina, my sister is getting her garden ready for planting. My cousin in Virgina posted photos of her Lenten rose weeks ago. Here in Indiana, I'm beginning to believe that spring is just around the corner.

We celebrated today's sunshine and our daughter's visit by going out to DeFries Calendar Garden this afternoon, and enjoyed glimpsing spring -- green leaves beginning to open on a few eager bushes, Lenten roses, swelling buds, the sweet scent of witch hazel pompons, an exuberance of pussywillow in the greenhouse, and mysterious colorful blooms.

For the past couple years I've had a picture/poem posted on my bulletin board, one John wrote and gave me for Epiphany 2009. It's a little hard to read there, with white print on a picture of evening sun on icy branches (the one above). For some reason I took it down the other day and re-read it.

He pulled together a number of threads from our experiences in 2008 -- if you check my 11-19 post, you can read my poem on the episode with the seagulls. We were both surprised to discover threads that had no source in 2008, but that resonate with strands of our lives today, including this blog (see section 4).

Becoming    -- by John Glick
1.
A band of sun-fire
Pierces dark December clouds
Illuminating.

One by one seagulls
Enter the light, winging southward,
Each bearing a prayer.

On and on they come
Transfixed I stand; thank God for
Serendipity.

2.
Flame's way focuses the mind;
A candle,
A campfire,
A raging California hillside.

On this day of the longest night,
When a father wonders if he'll have a job next month,
When a mother's doctor tells her she has cancer,
When a family huddles in the cold because
        they could not pay the utility bill,
We yearn for the light.
We yearn for God's light,
Like watchmen ache for the dawn.

Flame of love also
Focuses the mind, on
A child,
A friend,
A community.

3.
When deep comes darkness,
Your love, O Lord, is a fire,
Turning, transforming.

You who walk with us
Our hearts burn within; we Know
When You break the bread.

Ah, the flame within;
First it kindles, then ignites
Mind, body, soul.

4.
Shadows are the evidence of light,
Both the giver and the receiver,
A shadow speaks the language of
Shape, intensity and movement.

Evening settles;
Sipping tea my heart drinks in
Trees a-fire with sun.

They stretch their fingers
Towards heaven, inviting
"You too can be fire!"

Used with permission. All rights reserved.

Yesterday morning I checked the front flower bed for my baby siberian iris, since they usually come up soon after the crocus start blooming. There were green spikes of leaves, but no sign of buds. I looked out late in the afternoon and whoosh! -- they'd come up and bloomed.

Crossing the campus this morning, I couldn't tell if the sun was up by looking at the sky -- it was covered with thick rain clouds. But there was a chorus of birds to welcome it anyway, including some plumped-up robins. The rain spattered against my umbrella and the air was full of the scent of pine and wet earth. Ahhh...breathe deeply.

Muddy March, I thought, but not yet spring -- there aren't any earthworms on the sidewalk. That was on the way to the Rec-Fitness Center. By the time I headed home, I had to watch my step to avoid stepping on them. It's that transitional, who-knows-what's-going-to-happen season. Just after that I saw a flock of penguins.

Okay, so it was just the GC men's choir -- young men in black and white, flocking towards a tour bus near the music building, pillows under their arms, ready for anything. Maybe even a trip to the Pole.

I've been wondering whether it might be possible to track temperature changes by the effects on spring flowers. Under 50 degrees the crocus and snowdrops stay tightly furled. This afternoon the temps shot up above 60.

I went out looking for shadows this afternoon, having shadows on my mind after reading some of Richard Rohr's thoughts on the "shadowlands."

He's talking about humans' shadow sides -- the part of us that we don't want to see, the part that is unacceptable to us due to "nature, nurture, and choice."  He talks of the story of the prodigal son (Luke 15:11-32) and the publican and the Pharisee (LUke 18:9-14). In each case, the point is not that they were perfect people, but that they were honest about their wrong-doing. They faced up to it and named it.

"How have we been able to miss that important point? I suspect it is because the ego wants to think well of itself and deny any shadow material. Only the soul knows we grow best in the shadowlands. We are blinded inside of either total light or total darkness, but “the light shines on inside the darkness, and it is a light that darkness cannot overcome” (John 1:5). Ironically, it is in darkness that we find and ever long for more light. Did you know that even physics is now telling us that what looks like total darkness to the human eye is actually filled with neutrinos, which are light? Again, the mystics like John of the Cross knew this to be true on the spiritual level too."

(this is from Rohr's daily meditation website -- it's a somewhat expanded version of a quote from his Breathing Under Water, p 33).

Rohr calls us to "honest shadow boxing" -- making a "searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves," as step 4 of the Twelve Steps says.

"The more you are attached to any persona ("stage mask" in Greek) whatsoever, bad or good, any chosen and preferred self-image, the more shadow self you will have. So we absolutely need conflicts, relationship difficulties, moral failures, defeats to our grandiosity, even seeming enemies, or we will have no way to ever spot or track our shadow self. They are our necessary mirrors. Isn't that sort of a surprise? And even then, we usually catch it out of a corner of our eye -- in a graced insight and gifted moment of inner freedom."  (Breathing Under Water, 33 -34.)

A good awareness to be pondering during Lent, along side texts like those I worked with for Lent 1.

This isn't the shadowlands that Rohr has in mind, but I found the layers intriguing.

Some memories of sunlight and the warm wind from yesterday afternoon at Witmer Woods. . . a flock of red-wing blackbirds was feasting on the berries, but they didn't stay around for the photo op.

Back at home the sunshine was streaming in...













. . .making for interesting mixtures of light and shadow.