Photo Gallery Relaunch
I invite you to check out my newly redesigned Photo Gallery. I have spent considerable hours over the last several weeks during this time of self-isolation doing a complete overhaul of my photo gallery website. You will find a new layout, new indexes, and over fifty new galleries.
So … would you like to tour Maine? Or Scotland? Or the Big Island, Hawaii? Would you like to see puffins or whales or loons or harbor seals up close and personal? Would you like to visit stunning mountain summits or isolated islands or beautiful wilderness lakes? Would you like to take a hike or go for a sail or visit an historic European city?
Come visit. Stay a while. And enjoy the view!
You may always access the site at https://photos.believersjournal.org. My Photo Gallery is also linked from this blog and from my sermon library site. When you arrive at the site, you may access galleries by scrolling through the pages or by consulting one of the indexes (Subjects and Tags). Click on the chain link symbol on any image to access a full gallery of images. Click on any gallery thumbnail to open a lightbox slideshow.
May this silence teach us to listen
April 12, 2020
April 12, 2020
Late winter snow blankets the ground
Vernal pools lie still and frozen
But the sun rises …
Existential dread blankets the globe
Self-isolating households hunker down
But the sun rises …
Doubts claw at the edge of consciousness
What if what we have known what we have been what we have loved
Will never be the same
But the sun rises …
An Easter dawns like no other Easter
Subdued, unravelled, disoriented
No gathered voices raised in alleluias, the shadow of death lingering into morning
But the Son rises …
Tim Ensworth
April 12, 2020
The joy of the Lord is your strength
“This day is holy to our Lord … Do not be grieved, for the joy of the Lord is your strength.”
(Nehemiah 8:10)
Where there is fear, where there is deep misgiving, where there is uncertainty, where there is worry, where there is grief, may we find strength and a place of rest in joy, in the joy of the Lord.
Unexpected stillness
“May God bless this unexpected stillness in our lives.”
I have been corresponding with Kirsten, our dear friend from Edinburgh, Scotland. My wife, Lynne, and I have plans to travel to Scotland for two weeks in July. We intend to revisit many of our favorite destinations — Stonehaven, Edinburgh, Glencoe, Oban, Loch Lomond, Skye, Iona — as well as introduce two Iowa friends to this magical land.
The trip has been in the works for over a year and I have already made all the reservations for flights, rental car, housing, a Skye boat trip, and even a birthday meal for Lynne at a favorite Stonehaven restaurant. But now, because of this global pandemic, our trip seems very much in doubt.
Kirsten ended her most recent email, responding to my inquiries about the state of life in Scotland under the current lockdown orders, with those words: “May God bless this unexpected stillness in our lives.”
Oh, my …
Unexpected stillness. May God bless this unexpected stillness. Her words pierced me to my core and brought tears to my eyes. Such a simple description of our present state of being, but so lyrical, poignant, moving, and hopeful.
Unexpected stillness. This is a stillness, but stillness can be a gift. Unexpected stillness can be an unexpected gift. We are obliged to set aside most of our usual comings and goings, much of our usual busyness. We are constrained to be quiet, often alone or with just a few nearby, to be still. But in the stillness … we may hear other voices, we may hear other things, we may remember, we may discover, there may be space enough in us … for God to fill. In the stillness, we may be blessed.
May God bless this unexpected stillness in our lives …
Chastened, humbled, wiser, better
There is nothing good about this global coronavirus pandemic. There is nothing good about people dying. There is nothing good about people losing their jobs. There is nothing good about cherished cultural institutions being put in jeopardy.
And yet, I pray that good may come out of it, that when the disease has run its course, when social distancing is no longer required, when we return to offices and schools and theaters and restaurants and sporting arenas and concert halls, we will not be the same, we will not simply return to business as usual.
I pray we may be changed: chastened, humbled, wiser, better.
May we be chastened, newly conscious of our vulnerability, recognizing that we cannot bend this world to suit our own purpose and pleasure no matter how smart or powerful or wealthy we fancy ourselves.
May we be humbled, acknowledging the limitations of our capacity to take care of ourselves, the frailty of our most prized institutions, whether governmental, economic, technological, or medical. May we be simply and profoundly grateful for life at all, for each moment, for each breath.
May we be wiser, cognizant of the frivolity of so many of our passions and pursuits, not abandoning ambition or aspiration, but keeping all these in perspective, remembering what it is that does matter: faith and hope and love.
May we be better, fully comprehending, not merely in our minds, but in our hearts and bodies, too, that we and our fellow human beings, near and far, are not competitors in a zero-sum game, but colleagues, companions, housemates, siblings, we and they children of God alike, we in need of them, they in need of us.
As we face this ordeal together, may we be patient, kind and generous, hopeful, faithful, grateful, and eager … eager for the dawning of the day when this pandemic will be a threat no more, but eager too for the dawning of a new goodness, in us and among us.
The Box
This week, a member of the Deer Isle Writers Group, which I have recently joined, emailed us this challenge:
Miss our group. Here is a challenge if you wish to take it. Select an object that has been important to you and write about it. Share with the group. Add a photo if you like!
I wrote this piece yesterday in response …