The Hospitable Host of Greppolishieto

Let us begin by saying I have no idea how to make the name of this quaint hamlet roll off my tongue, for that matter, if it may be misspelled....however, there is one thing I am sure of, this place is filled with the spirit of St. Francis, the sense of nature, spirit, and amazing stone define this sweet town.

As we arrived at the parking below town I was struck by the sign with map of the hiking trails that wove down through the valley and hills in the are.  We were on a time-limited mission of exploring sacred places, with no time to hike, but wow the view from the hillside town of the beautiful woods below called out to truly explore God's sacred space in nature.  I made a mental note to return to hike this beautiful countryside and then we walked toward the village.

On the outskirts of the village was a sweet farm house with a stone wall and gateway, sitting atop the entryway was a beautiful and aloof cat.  I called "gatti, gatti, gatti" and after slowly, casually looking this way and that the cat acknowledged my presence and actually came over.  After the briefest of greetings our new friend proceeded to lead us into the village.

We entered the village near the chapel with a grand stone plaza built in memory of the villagers who died in WWI.  Encircling the plaza where beautiful wrought iron crosses on the edge of the low lying wall that surrounded the town and from this vantage point looked over the woodlands in the valley and hillside surrounding the hamlet.  I could imagine when chapel let out and coming onto this plaza what an amazing sense of the sacred there would be going from liturgical worship space into the vast glory of God's creation before you, with the reminder of love for those who have passed on before us.

Our host beckoned us on, through a traditional Italian archway into the inner village, where all the homes' entrys were, as were small yet beautiful gardens and a multitude of window boxes filled with geraniums and other flowers.  Il gatto kept leading the way, to view so many signs of the sacred, from artwork of Mary and Jesus to just the sheer grandure of a centuries old stone village that breathed of life, even though all inhabitants were away at work and school.  It was like a magical tour through a mystical place where our small group had the quiet and time to explore with our newfound friend.

As it came time to leave our host walked us around the walls outside the village, taking us back to where we began, leaping to the top at his post again, watching over the village and valley, ready to greet the next group of visitors.  I, to this day, can't get over the gift of the cat, the gift of a host to lead us through a village that was his own. 

The whole experience reminded me of the awareness of St. Francis of the divine within all of God's creation, in this case, within our friend the gatto di Greppolishieto.  How do you greet the sacred in the "other" be it human, animal, or nature?  How do you let the "other" greet and take you to mystical places?

Life in View of the Village Tower

There is a quote/saying that a friend tripped about trying to explain to me of the importance of living life within the sounds/site of the village tower in Umbria, Italy.  Explaining that there is a depth of meaning to living one's life being able to hear the sounds of the tower bell, and to view the clock - to be connected to the heart of town.  This actually does sound incredibly wonderful, to have such a connection to place and the people that share that place with you.

Myself, I have lived in over 30 houses/apartments/dwelling places in my life, moving from place to place with some amazing well honed packing skills.  At a certain point in my life I felt I wast forever seeking "home" and at a certain point I figured there may not be such a place for me.  But the sweetness of the concept has never left the back of my mind, and the thought of their being a very strong cultural saying regarding the importance of the tower certainly struck me.

It was fun hearing the saying long after I returned from my journey, for my companion had no idea that I had taken so many photos of the various towers in the various towns we passed through.  But when the concept of tower came up, it led me to ideas for two very different types of postings, this one on the importance of community, and a second to follow on the uniqueness of communities in Umbria, a geographically small area.

In Piegaro my heart was really stirred by the importance of the tower my last night there, Wednesday evening.  As we had gone back to the apartment to settle in for the evening I received a call from a congregation member in need of a listening ear, and so decided to step out for some privacy and just walk the streets while in conversation.  It was a beautiful night after a day of thunderstorms, lightening and rain that had kept many of us indoors and having fun at the caffe during the day.  The air was fresh with the moisture of the day, yet warm and comfortable, it felt good to walk and talk around the old part of the village, circling around even to some little streets I hadn't been on before.  I was very aware of the tower and it's clock listening to the chimes on the half hours and seeming to keep me company on a quiet night.  The people in the village had all gone in by this time and I could hear from the homes of the village the sounds of t.v. and conversations, all winding down at the end of their day.

When I returned to the apartment, it was my friend's turn to be on a personal call, so I went out again, circling the town, slowly walking the streets.  I took a few photos of some of the art that graced the exterior of some of the walls, and would look up when the clock struck an hour or half past again.  I would peek in occasionally to find my friend still being the long-distance love and caring for family from half a world away, and I kept walking.  Piegaro is a small town, so I walked many of the streets over and over multiple times, wondering who liked the drama, comedy or action that I could hear on the t.v.s - I was already missing this place so much and yet I could hear and feel the life that was being lived, and I could see and hear the clock in the tower.  Time moved so gracefully for moving so rapidly, I know I checked in repeatedly at the apartment and was out for a couple of hours, yet it was so soothing, I walked past the tower many times.

The tower, the last thing I could see of the town when we drove toward Rome the following day, the first thing I saw when we approached Piegaro just a few weeks before.  I remember wondering if the sweet bells that called us to worship came from the tower rather than the church that sat beside it, and now know that I forgot to ask.  The tower that when we were in town always reminded me of the time so there was no need to keep track on my own.  A beautiful thing the tower.

In our own neighborhood in Seattle our church tower has a bell, but due to neighbor's concerns it only rings on Sundays, just before worship.  From the inside of the church one can't hear it at all.  The other bells I hear are from the school informing the children when it is time to begin and end the day, and when to go in or out for recess.  Last week after hearing the lovely phrase about the tower the bells of the school went off for an emergency drill.  As I listened to the mournful cry of the emergency siren, not really a bell this time, I thought to myself, "now is just a test of the emergency system, or the real thing, is there an emergency?"  So, I prayed, I prayed that there was no emergency, but if there was, than it was a good time to give thanks for my incredible life, a gift from God, for all the blessings, adventures and magic along the way, and I thought of the tower.

What would it be like to live, live a life always within the sight and sound of an ever-present tower over the community?

Learning to Rest

One of the greatest faults I carry that is a reflection of our culture is my seemingly inability to stop and rest.  In sharing with friends my upcoming vacation plans which also include preparing for my sabbatical next year there was a concern lifted by one that I would not truly rest.  My son said I don't rest.  As I mentioned I planned to spend time swimming and reading "fun" books we got to talking of swimming.  My friend says she loves to swim, and she will be staying in Tuscany during the time I'm in Umbria and invited me to come up for a poolside day with her.
Then came my confession of swimming, I swim like a cat, flailing about in the water with my primary goal to keep my head up and gulp for air.  I also enjoy playing in the water with others, and do plan on bringing a beach ball....but the only time I truly relax while in water is back floating stroking.  At this point my son points out to his friends that my idea of a relaxing back stroke is to cruise back and forth in the pool as if I was practicing to escape from Alcatraz.  Hmmmm, my son knows me so well, as he says, I never really rest.
Yet, I feel this is so important to our spiritual well being, a practice I myself struggle with.  It was a great recognition and revelation this past year that with many years of working, often 7 days a week, that I have approached exhaustion on a grand scale recently.  Many changes have happened that have deeply effected my energy and it is so wonderful to be a part of a great worshipping congregation that explores ways to deepen their missional lives, and sabbatical time and learning to rest as God rested on the 7th day is calling out to me.
During my time preparing for leading a Spring Retreat in Umbria in 2011, amid the work of exploring, planning, and contemplating what would create "true" retreat I found a place that gave my soul rest.  Through worship, through walks, but mostly through a people so deeply connected as community my heart found a place to breathe-spirit.   It would be my wish that all could find such a place for themselves, a place to live fully in the spirit, a place to feed their souls.  A friend in Umbria said you can find the spirit no matter where you are, and yes, I truly believe that.  God's grace is EVERYWHERE, but there are special places as the Celts' named as "thin places" where spirit and earth are so close.  I think those places are different for different people, they are places that feed the parts where our hearts hunger for what seems to be missing.
In the busyness of our days preparing/working, there were special times of day with my new found  friends that took me to rest and refreshed my soul, they were but snippets of time in a busy 2 weeks.  They were reminders of my own need to practice Sabbath, to practice rest so that my soul can be strengthened.  It is a natural pattern for folks there that I don't find present in our culture.  I look forward to a new and essential learning for my life during sabbatical, and a very short practice time in the coming week.
What are the essential learnings God is calling you to?  How do you take time for sabbath rest?  Where are the "Thin Places" that feed your soul?  What do you do to nourish not only self, but to give thanks and praise to the Creator and giver of life and love?

tradition, Tradition, TRADITION

In the Protestant denominations of the Methodist movements, tradition is considered one of the 4 elements on which the church stands:  Scripture, Tradition, Reason and Experience.  But institutional memory often seems short, going back maybe 60 years, until the "good old days" of the 50's when a post-war church boom was alive and well.  People remember when Sunday Schools were full as well as the pews on Sunday mornings, we remember rummage sales, holiday pageants and potlucks.  These are fond memories that warm our hearts and take us back to a sweeter time.  But what really makes a time sweet?  Is it the focus on our needs, our wants, our desires?  The church of the 1950's was doing an amazing job of healing a broken country in the aftermath of World War II, but at some point we felt that that this was our pinnacle, yet the traditions of the church which were set aside in the wake of needing healing, seemed to be forgotten, and what was self-care became self-serving.  We forgot our spiritual and sacred roots, we forgot the practices that nurtured communities of faith for centuries and were the hallmark of the Methodist movement.
One of the reasons that John Wesley included tradition in the 4 principles of the Methodist movement, was his keen insight into inviting the wisdom of those who came before him into the fullness of faith that was essential to this movement that encouraged its people to worship in any church on a Sunday, but experience the fullness of a life of faith within spiritual "methods."  Daily prayer, scripture and a gathering of small groups for support in a real world encompassing all from pain to joy, were the essentials for Methodism, this methodical group who encouraged one another in faith.  His greatest worry was that this movement would become institutional, forgetting who and whose they are.
But if we think woe to the denominational church, let's face it, it is merely a reflection of a culture that has formed in this country of great newness.  United States of America is one of the youngest nations, having pushed the natives of this land to the margins, and brought in new people for this new country.  As a good chef I know once said, "we don't ask for a good restaurant when seeking a recommendation, we ask for a new one."  We are a people who move from house to house on average every 3 years, who change our wardrobe on average of 6 months to a year as fashion demands, and who fill garage sales, thrift stores and land-fills with our cast-off "old stuff."  We are taught by politicians, advertisers, and economic "experts" that we are not people, but consumers, who must buy, buy, buy new, New, NEW everyday in order to make things well, it is our responsibility.  Little room here to be informed by tradition.
Yet what does this all do for our sense of meaning and purpose?  It seems as if our culture is denying that there is a wide and awesome possibility of existence here in God's creation, we lose some things that have been essential to human tradition, and more so, traditions of faith.  Our meaning and purpose get tied to things like economy, work, and "getting away."  We are so dragged down by daily life that we need to get away.
This was precisely what our early founder was seeking to remedy with the foundation of Methodist practices, the grinding daily life that pushes us to get away, to seek what is missing in our lives.  Daily practices of communication in small groups where the highs and lows of life were not only shared, but all were surrounded by loving support of one another.  Where the greatest part of this circle of people was the awareness that God IS present, through prayer and spirit this was reinforced each day.  The constant reminder that One, mysterious, all-knowing, all-loving is always present.  God above all names is with us in times of trouble and times of celebration.
Wesley borrowed ideas for his faith groups, for his movement from the traditions of old, he did not invent something "new" in the 1700's - it should be a reminder to us all that what worked so well for early Methodists was not even new then.  The essentials of tradition have as much to teach us now as then.
In the past months I've been writing much of my time in Italy, a land where people seem to be drawn to when seeking their souls, seeking deeper meaning.  Just look at the books and movies that are so popular these days: " Under the Tuscan Sun", "Eat, Pray, Love", "A Thousand Days in Venice," "Letters from Juliette".....  What does Italy have that we don't?   It has tradition, rich tradition that the people embrace fully, in their daily lives, in their food, in maintaining culture.  For me, coming from the life of pastor,  the greatest elements of this traditional culture was the life lived publicly, where all stories of life are shared among friends who consult, comfort, and celebrate with one another.  And of course, the amazing depth of worship, traditional celebration of the sacred, and the ever present witness to faith of the people via their art.  The wonder of the art was that it was often used as a means for social commentary, criticism of institutional church, and the awesomeness of a God beyond explanation.  Most Italians I met, even those who don't formally attend church are intensely spiritual, it is a good place to seek spirit and healing.
In such a new nation, can we find a depth of spirit that seems to leave us seeking other places to find it?  Can we dig deeper into our souls to move us beyond the trappings of our culture into a sense of eternal that looks both the the past as well as to the future?  Can we reclaim in our churches and institutions the heart and soul of what was so alive in the early church, in the renaissance, in the reformation??  Are we desperate enough for depth of meaning to make profound changes in our world that take us back to what is so important, the Love of God, others and self - sustained in community???