Sport, Speech, and Spirit

Saturday morning saw me at the curling club, helping out with Curling 101. I do this a couple of times most years. It is always interesting – in so many ways. It gives me the chance to meet some new people, there to try out curling as a winter sport option. It gives me an opportunity to fill out my volunteer hours at the club. But what I most enjoy is the chance to see the sport through the eyes of people new to curling.

Usually they will have some very basic exposure to the game; maybe having played it at a work recreation event, or perhaps at a bonspiel with a family member. Some will have watched curling on television, and think it interesting to try.

One of the things I learn every year is that I am utterly unaware of the things I know and take for granted – how to slide, sweep, and strategize as well as protocols around play, etc. It is eye-opening to discover how much I have learned and habituated. Tactics, skills, and play rules are not learned all at once, but over time and when I play with newer curlers I realize how these all hold together. Abilities emerge more organically, although getting the basics in place is a good starting point! It is fun to be a part of their learning experience. I am always energized by their excitement at making a shot. I am inspired by the high fives. I am delighted to be a part of a good experience in learning a sport.

Some philosophers have compared learning a game to learning a language. The comparison holds in many ways. You learn to speak by speaking even while reading grammars and vocabulary books can help. In like way, you need to get out on the ice and make some mistakes to really learn how to throw a rock, sweep effectively, and have fun. Learning to play and learning to speak all involve trial and error.

Likewise, some theologians have said that religions are a bit like languages, which are a bit like a game. You develop facility in their ways of being in the world by giving them a go. You learn the way of faith by failing from time to time when you try out something new. You often grow forward by sometimes going backward. You need others to show you the way, to help you up when you fall, to point you in the right direction. Faith is, in some ways, a team sport.

In my intro to theology class we try to define religion and its marks. This is a difficult and fascinating task. Along the way I ask my students if a sport can qualify as a religion. Some sports have many of the marks of religion: ritual, community, a sense of purpose – even prayer in some instances. All the same, I don’t consider curling, or any sport, a religion. But when I see the joy of people discovering a new way to be in their body and delight at working together and the wonder of leaving worries behind for a bit on a Saturday morning, I wonder if my religion might learn a thing or two from Curling 101. In the meantime, I will continue to throw my stones with a smile on my face.

Crazy in Spades

Yesterday I made my way
to the back of our yard,
stopping to breath in fall and
to breath out fatigue.

I touched our blazing maple
and noticed that it has
outgrown its
spring wardrobe, leaves
dropping like fires.

Our yard is crazy in spades,
cardinal hiding in red burning bush
woodpecker checking out brick pointing
squirrel deep in garden ground found bare
and Chip, our industrious animal monk,
prayerfully spiriting away goods for winter.

I got to the back of the yard
and found a winter’s worth of
cones cornered behind our shed
neatly arranged on a hanging ladder
with a mount now a tombstone atop
our animal cemetery.

Winter is not yet here,
but this harvesting is a harbinger.

Home and at Play

This last week was a holiday for me. My wife was not able to take time off in August, so it was a break at home. This is both a blessing and a bane – a blessing because it allows me to shape my day to day life at home with some measure of leisure, and a bane because that is hard work. It is hard to play at home, it seems.

But I tried, and with some success. I managed to sleep in most days, even working on a crossword in bed in the morning with a cup of coffee before breakfast! I did some painting, some leisurely reading on the lawn with the company of some favourite trees. I managed to sneak in a mid-week sail down to Carol’s Point in Hamilton Harbour, where I amused myself watching a young couple learning the art of paddle boarding.

But this last weekend before back to work was especially rich. My wife and I made our way on Friday down to LaSalle Marina for a sail on Santa Maria. It was a glorious time, with lovely and consistent wind, as well as some nice evening light. After that, we drove down the road to dine at Ikea. We often frequent a diner near the marina but felt like something quicker. While in line to divine what to eat of the seemingly Swedish fair on offer, we found ourselves behind a young woman, with two beautiful young children. The older, a son, was able to fare for himself but mom had the younger daughter on her hip. She was so good with them. It was lovely to see. At one point, the little girl lost a shoe, unbeknownst to mom, but Gwenanne caught it and helped the shoe find its foot. Mom mentioned that losing that shoe on that foot was a common occurrence!

We made our way to a table, just beside this young family, and the little girl fixed her eyes, her beautiful shining brown eyes, on me. And she stared. She stared at me through the whole meal. Her mom would coax her to turn her head for her chips, but then back on me. Every now and then a passing family would grab her seeing, but then back to me. Mom was a bit embarrassed, but I told her it was sweet. I felt like a rock star for a minute or two in my life! I asked her name, and was told “Her name is Valeria, the Spanish version of Valerie.” We chatted a bit before we left.

We spent that night and the next day on the dock, where I was Officer of the Day for two four hour shifts. The forecast was for a day full of rain, and the first hour or so of my shift made it look like I would spend the day underneath, in our cabin. But after a bit of very intense rain and distant thunder, then came breath-takingly beautiful clouds as the storm subsided. Against the weather report of all day rain, the afternoon was a mix of sun with soft wind, heavy winds, clouds and repeat,

We made our way home and enjoyed a pizza picked up on our drive, watched some TV, and bed. Sunday will involve laying low, preparing for the race that is autumn – but hopefully with the capacity to bring a modicum of leisure to the swift passing of time.

Longest Light of the Year

On the longest light of
the year, I watched our
lawn – a community of
grass, clover, wild strawberries,
purple violets, dents-de-lion, and
other flowering friends.

As I did so, Robin leapt
about sprays from the
water sprinkler, playing
her part – a dancer on a
stage with a chorus of
trees.

For a time, I sat at
the edge of this concert hall
reading the score of the work,
with notes of hope,
and symbols for rest.

I was content for a time
and
I was content with time.

A Garment Called Joy

Beauty bests me as
it vests me with eyes
seen by robin, whose
cocked head whips
mine round. It
unsettles me as it
wrestles me into
a garment called joy:
a toddler twists
a stalk explodes a bloom
and a preacher weeps the good news:
“finger to ear;
spit to tongue” among these
words, water, wonder.

Turtles in Pink

The water is glacier green in this lake called Pink.
Three turtles graced our field of vision as we
traced its circumference. This lake
tells the tale of a day when sea
covered what is now
trees and rocks and the history
that followed that flood.

I look around and see mystery:
people smiling at vistas,
fish at water’s edge,
sun blessing faces – and
joy arrives. It just does.

We work so hard to keep
death and sorrow at bay
that some days I wonder
whether we miss joy in
our striving… but joy
comes to us unawares: in
an unexpected call,
a smile that knows more,
an offer to help and
a willingness to be helped.

Joy comes in green and blue and turquoise.
Joy comes in the leisurely roll of a turtle,
turning my world round.

For the Weal of the World

Thursday saw Santa Maria make her way from the hard to the lovely and oh so wet Hamilton Harbour on Lake Ontario. COVID-19 complications meant that this was not a possibility last year, so it was especially sweet to see her land in the water.

For those who are not familiar with sailing in my part of the world, sailboats have to come out of the water because the lakes freeze, and fixed keel boats have keels thousands of pounds heavy, so a lift or a crane is used. Our marina rents a crane. It is quite the site to see things that float flying across the sky.

When she landed, I was near at hand, and jumped into the boat, started the engine as the pier crew moved my boat down the dock. Within some seconds she was ready to go, and the crew tossed the lead lines into the boat and I was off. It was a feeling… slipping across the water. Boats are mesmerizing. You cannot turn on a dime. There are no brakes. And the feeling of floating is unlike any other. Something stirred.

I didn’t grow up on the water. My mother was afraid of it, but my dad had been in the navy and while he rarely spoke of his experiences in the second world war, he sometimes talked with some enthusiasm about learning to sail as a part of their training. I suspect that some bits of my joy on the water are related to this. My paternal grandmother was from the west coast of Norway, and so it just might be that other bits of my joy come from blood. I’m not altogether sure but being on the water brings me a joy that I can’t quite describe.

I suspect most people have some place, or activity, or perhaps a time that finds them outside of themselves, drifting into the future, the past, the stories in our bones. These experiences are life giving and avoided at our peril. Alas, we too often fail to attend to these in our busyness. I truly feel that these experiences are divine gifts that feed our souls, our minds, and our bodies. Too often we imagine that only “holy” activities ground and grow our spirit. But all that is truly whole is holy, shaped by the Creator for the good of our humanity, and for the weal of the world.

Of course, these may well change and shift with time, but then again, so do we. I should note too that sailing is not the only activity that takes me to another place. Sometime art will do this, or music, or running. The Holy One has given us so many ways to stay alive. Receive these gifts for what they are: given for you.

This Too Can Be Home

There is a sprig of hemlock,
Tsuga canadensis not Conium maculatem,
nestled in the round of our Advent
wreath; warmly wrapped by
lights of hope, peace, joy and love,
this gentle bough at home
in my home.

I pinch a bit of it for my nose and
I find myself transported to a
fragrant conifer forest. My
soul is sated and settled in the
womb afforded by four sister trees:
hope, peace, joy and love.

I look above and see tongues of fire
resting on these sacred silva beings:
I take delight in knowing that this too can be home.
I pinch myself and am transported back
to my living room, where the Holy
holds inner and outer as one.

Walking down an Addis Street

my mind drifts, following
my eyes, now on a
pothole, now on a
building bending from sky
to ground, now on
beauty whisking across
the street with poise and purpose,
now on a row of toilets and sinks
and pipes for plumbing lives.
But then I see a little finger
swaddled in a mother’s
hand. And I think on
You and my soul
floats up to a
place where
I know
Love.

Deceptively Pedestrian

My walk home from church was unexceptional; aside
from the fact that I can walk and the street-
side tress cannot; and aside
from the fact that the sky
opened for a time and showed
me the divine eye: and aside
from the fact that the wind
whispered my name and the
horizon smiled at me; and aside
from the fact that the blessed
dead watched my every step,
counting each one and writing
them in ‘The Book of Strides’; and aside
from the fact that I remember angels
rambled round King Street, dressed
incognito – although their wings
left tufts of down under
this tree and round that bush.

My walk home from church was
deceptively pedestrian.