Walks with Barry - Profoundly Simple: A Walk Reframed

  Can you see them? They are very easy to miss. If you look closely you can see two doves seeking shelter together. On a recent day when the wind was howling away at a steady 40 miles an hour, I noticed the pair finding refuge on the ground under some bushes. Heads tucked in tight and low, they had given up flying for the moment. Instead, they had hunkered down to ride out the storm. The Psalmist writes, “God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear though the earth gives way, though the mountains be moved into the heart of the sea, though its waters roar and foam, though the mountains tremble at its swelling.” The power of the Psalms is found in the honesty of the words, not only in regard to our emotions but in their depiction of life itself. Even those who trust in God know trouble of various kinds. Faith does not make us immune from the struggles and suffering life brings. Faith guides us into a life of love and compassion and service,

  “Who are you looking at? Are you looking at me? I’m the only one here so you must be looking at me.” Or so went my imaginary conversation with this squirrel with the Robert De Niro stare. What a pleasant surprise to look out the window just as she was looking in. It was a toss up as to who was more surprised. I can’t help but wonder what imaginary conversation they had with me, huge human creature that I am. Occasionally, we all spend time in imaginary conversations. We recite what we wished we had said in some past circumstance when we felt attacked or insulted, putting another in their place. We rehearse what we wish we would have said to those we have loved and see no more. Sometimes we imagine talking to our younger selves as if we could spare ourselves some sorrow. I often hear people speak of the conversation they are planning to have when they meet God one day, their list of questions prepared and their arguments at the ready. Prayer is a conversation with God, but it isn’t im

  As I made my way through the streets of my neighborhood, I saw in the distance a very interesting sight. Upon further inspection, what appeared to be a big surprised face turned out to be some type of net. I suppose it is used for some type of sports practice; perhaps golf or frisbee? I don’t know because no one was in the yard using it at the time. All I know is that I like the thought of a big face greeting each day in the neighborhood with awe and wonder. The net does not form a smile, but I think that a look of awe and wonder might be even better. What if all who pass were reminded that the world is a fascinating place full of wonder? The Psalmist writes, “They who dwell in the ends of the earth stand in awe of Your signs; You make the dawn and the sunset shout for joy.” It is so easy to be bogged down by the weight of trouble, both our own and that of the larger world. It is easy to walk through our days missing the sunsets and the sunrises. It is easy to be so distracted by our

  “And why do you worry about clothes? See how the flowers of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you—you of little faith?” I have to admit, these days it is hard not to worry. In fact, any time I think of not worrying I remember the old joke, “What do you mean don’t worry? Have you watched the news lately?” War. Inflation. Crime. Division. Hate. Misinformation. Conspiracy Theories. Disease. The list goes on and on. Then, of course, we have our own internal struggles. There is no shortage of things to worry about. It is easy to fall under the power of unhealthy worry and anxiety. Especially if one has a compassionate heart. Jesus knew this. He also knew that his people did have concerns about clothing and food and the essentials. They were an oppressed peop

  As I was enjoying the early morning light show in the sanctuary, I noticed something that I had never noticed before. As I stood on the chancel and looked out into the worship space, I took pictures of the colors from the stained glass windows painting the empty pews. Suddenly a reflection in the glass at the main entrance caught my eye. It was a complete mirror image of the main round window behind me. This was not just a reflection of the beautiful, rich colors of the window, but of every detail. During this season of reflection, I found this to be an extraordinary moment. It brought to mind the words from the Letter to the Hebrews, “He is the radiance of the glory of God and the exact imprint of his nature, and he upholds the universe by the word of his power.” That is a profound belief to hold. Just as the reflection in the glass is the exact image of the window above the chancel, so does the life of Jesus reflect the exact imprint of God’s nature. When we look at Jesus, we see G

  If you walk with me from time to time, you probably know that I love the way the early morning light plays through the stained glass in the sanctuary of the church. The colors reflect in such interesting ways. I never cease to be amazed at how vivid the colors in those reflections can be. The Lenten banners are up for the season. They represent the feel of these six weeks very well. The rich color of purple. The rough burlap fabric. The small crosses, painted by worshipers at an Ash Wednesday service years ago. The words of the old hymn, “Beneath the cross of Jesus…” But on this morning the somber tone is ever so gently backlit with the colors of the windows. Through the cross glows hope. Through the rough burlap glows beauty. Through the life, death and resurrection of Jesus glows love and grace and forgiveness. It was a beautiful sight, this glimpse of Easter in the middle of this period of deep reflection on our mortality and sin. May we always be able to catch a glimpse of such l

  In my neighborhood, the first sign that Spring has sprung is not the weather or the calendar. The first sign of Spring is that all manner of stuff begins to appear at the curb for pick up. House after house, block after block, it appears almost planned and orchestrated. The race is on to unclutter. It is time to move out the little kid stuff and make room for the bigger kid stuff. Garages need to actually have room for a car as the season of the Texas hail storm arrives. Well, this weekend made it official. It is Spring in the neighborhood. I enjoy seeing the offerings left at the curb. I am sure that over these past two years more than a few neighbors have scratched their head at the wandering grey-haired man who takes pictures of their trash! More often than not, there is something interesting to be seen. More often than not, there is something that sparks a memory or fuels my imagination. This rocker in the shape of a dog made me smile. I am a dog person, so that was part of the a

  As the time rapidly approaches when the trees will be in full bud to begin the cycle of Spring once again, the last of the old leaves find their way to the curb after a hard rain. With all the wind cleaning the branches of the trees, with all the mowing and blowing and raking and bagging, the old leaves just keep coming. They never seem to run out. From whence do they come? As a boy, one of my favorite Fall activities was the burning of the leaves. Surrounded by trees of so many varieties, and living adjacent to a large area of woods, our yard would fill with leaves several times a season. We would rake them into the ditch that ran along our road and wait for a window of time with little wind. Then we would connect a hose to a spigot and drag it to the ditch. A few matches was all it took for the dry, brittle leaves to burst into flame. Then you stood watch, hose in hand, to keep the fire confined to the ditch. When I reached an age where I was trusted with this task, it seemed such

  As I walked upon this scene of destruction as I made a tour of the neighborhood on a surprisingly hot afternoon. What had been a pothole was now an entire section of the road reduced to busted pieces of concrete. Cones were strategically placed along the center of the street to keep cars and trucks from turning the corner and crashing into the debris. Police caution tape was strung from sign post to sign post on the curb side to keep walkers like me from stepping off into the mess. Who knows how long it might stay in this state of disrepair and brokenness. As I was walking, I was thinking about the world. The Ukraine. The continuing effects of the pandemic. So many I know who are grieving the loss of loved ones. Uncertainty and violence. We live in a time of destruction, fear and struggle. But there are no cones to keep us safe, no police tape to keep us from stepping into the mess that is the world. We are already in it, we are a part of it. But we are not in it alone. We are all i

In this winter of ice and snow and cold, it seemed so much color left the world. Brown lawns. Leafless, dormant trees. Grey skies. Covered, or empty, flower beds. The landscape seemed particularly bleak to me this year - and I personally like winter very much. Perhaps it was the dragging on of the pandemic or the divisions in our society that added to my vision of the winter world. But even in the midst of all this, there were glimpses of color. I don’t believe the berries on this bush have ever been as red. They glow in their little oasis of green in the midst of a grey world. It seems as if they exist to be a reminder that color will return to the world, in its time. They seem a promise; a promise that there is life, even in the depths of winter. They seem a taste of what could be, and will be, a bit farther down the road. It seems to me that this is a good way to think of the Church in these difficult times. Try as we may through our good works of kindness and compassion, the world

  I recently came across a new addition to the neighborhood. I was pleasantly surprised to find that a peacock had moved in down the street. What captured my attention immediately was the plainness of this bird. This was a rare monochromatic peacock. It was very detailed, except for one detail - the one detail peacocks are known for the most - color. I think that too often these days, we who call ourselves “Christian” are missing the one detail we are to be most known by in the world. Jesus said, “By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.” Like my neighborhood peacock, we can be very detailed in other ways. We can have the language down. We can quote from the Bible. We can go to church. We can know the words to all the songs. But even with all that, we can live without love being the overriding characteristic of our lives. When that is the case, we hurt, not help, the witness to Jesus in the world. Oh, we stand out, but we stand out like a colorless

  I have walked the streets of my neighborhood for so many miles that I now have thoughts and memories associated with a few stops along the way. This tree, for example, always makes me think of the future. It reminds me of the cartoon series, “The Jetsons”. For some reason the carefully pruned shape of this tree reminds me of the buildings in that show. When this tree comes into my view, I hear that catchy theme song and picture the family: George, Jane, Judy and Elroy. I see the robot Rosie and, of course, their faithful talking dog Astro. The sight of this tree never fails to make me smile. But as much as I enjoy the trip down memory lane, I also like the fact that the tree turns my thoughts to what lies ahead. When I was a boy, that meant looking forward to flying cars, jet packs, amazing household conveniences and talking dogs. These days, my thoughts of the future are less complicated and more personal. I think of friends who are battling illness and my hope for their return to h

  After an evening of thunder and lightning and rain, the early morning was brisk and the air fresh. The moon was so bright that, even with all the ambient light, it shone like the sun. I have always liked this effect. It seems dreamlike. Ever since I was a boy sleeping outdoors on summer nights, a bright moon has filled my heart with wonder. The beauty of it captures my imagination. Such a scene reminds me how much I wish I had the talent to paint. But, alas, All I have is a heart to appreciate the awesome beauty of the morning. These years of pandemic have been difficult in so many ways. We have been stressed by changes in routine. We have mourned the loss of those we loved and cared about. We have worried about the effect of isolation on both adults and children. We have feared the continuing economic fallout. It has seemed the world has gone mad. We are exhausted and weary to our core. This early morning moon reminds me that, through it all, there remains overwhelming beauty in the

  After the last - I hope - blast of winter, our neighborhood was greeted with a picture perfect day. All enjoyed a cloudless sky of brilliant blue and warm temperatures. Once again the park was a beehive of activity. Soccer games, baseball games, children on bikes and families having picnics - life had returned in full force. As I walked the trail around the park, something high up in a treetop caught my eye. It was colorful and moving ever so slightly in the breeze. Sometime over these past few very windy days, brave souls ventured out to fly a kite. Clearly, they were successful in getting the kite high into the winter sky. Unfortunately, it appears that the high winds ended up winning. Here is all that remains of the beautiful kite. I hope the sight of it makes the flier smile as they pass, reminding them of that day and the beauty of the flight. Instead of a invoking sadness, the snagged and broken kite can be a powerful reminder of good things, even the best of things. This past

As the sun was setting on a very busy day, the sky glowed orange and red. It was a truly spectacular sight. The sun was so bright that everything else appeared blacked out against it. The contrast was stark and dramatic. Growing up, I dreamed of going on a safari to see the majestic creatures and dramatic landscapes I had read about or seen on film. From the books and movies and television shows of my childhood, this is how an evening on safari begins. I found myself looking for a giraffe’s silhouette slowly moving across the horizon. My imagination kicked in and picked up where it left off many decades ago. Memories are powerful things, whether they remind us of happy times or sad. Memories can give us strength and they can help guide our decisions. In a way, over time, even the memories of our hardest moments can give us strength by reminding us that, in spite of the struggle, here we are. The Psalmist writes, “I will remember the deeds of the Lord; yes, I will remember your miracles

I began these daily walks and musings when the pandemic first crashed into our lives. It is hard to believe that around two years have passed. In some ways, the time has flown. In other ways, it seems to drag on as never before. As I continue to travel the streets and sidewalks of my neighborhood, I remember certain moments from the many miles I’ve covered. On a walk in the early days of this journey, I remember hearing the deep, rich sound of chimes floating on the breeze. As I walked in the quiet of the morning, I searched for the source. I finally found these chimes and paused to listen to their beautiful music. Now I look for them each time I walk their street. On this day, I was struck by the silence. The day was as still as could be, not a leaf stirring. I paused and waited to hear at least a note or two of their song, but to no avail. So I moved on, driven by the clock and schedule. But as I walked, I still took comfort in knowing that the chimes were there and that the music wo

  As I walk through this season of Lent, I am mindful of those who choose to give up something for the season. The point of such a practice is not to punish oneself, but to use the discipline to create time and space to pray or reflect or serve. It is amazing how much time can be freed up in our busy schedules by altering one habit. It can be a food or drink we enjoy. It can be something we find entertaining. It can be just about anything, really, that is a part of our daily life. I have never been a coffee drinker, but I have friends who must start their day with it or, well, just not start their day. It is a “must” for them. It wakes them up and focuses their minds. When they travel, one of their priorities is to know where they will find the coffee each morning. They love their coffee. They need their coffee. As I came upon this discarded cup, it made me think of those things we might lay aside for a greater good. What holds us back from experiencing life to the full? What is it tha

  Is there anything more beautiful than the many aspects of the play of light and cloud and color in the sky? Sunrises. Sunsets. The dramatic light and shade on a cloudy day. It seems the gift of an ever-changing canvas on which indescribable beauty is constantly renewed. I join the Psalmist in these words, “When I consider your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars, which you have set in place, what is mankind that you are mindful of them, human beings that you care for them?” A scene such as this astounding sky always makes me feel humble and reverent. It also makes me feel small, not in a bad way, but in amazement that in the scheme of all creation, I matter to God. Somehow, in some way, I am known and loved. I fit into this grand creation. I, in some way beyond my comprehension, matter. Best of all, such a sight reminds me that this is true of all people everywhere. This is true of people, both like me and very different from me. This is true of people who agree

After a big rain, the waters drain through the creek and the spillway at the bridge eventually is dry. It is often interesting what remains on the high side of the spillway, what did not make the journey farther downstream. Unfortunately, there is always trash and debris that end up against the concrete. But occasionally there are other things. This time there was not one, but two, basketballs. They were a perfect pair with their matching green color. It made me wonder from whence they came. How far upstream might one find their home? It made me wonder how both managed to not roll over the spillway when the water was raging. Then again, perhaps there were more than two green basketballs that began the journey. How many may have continued on? Now these two just float, waiting to be rescued and returned to play. Sometimes the same thing happens in our lives. Storms come. Our waters rage. When the storm passes, some things are cleansed from our lives and some remain. Always we begin again

  If you have followed me on my walks from time to time you know that I love swings. This one has not been hanging for too long, it is a fairly new addition to its lovely home. The children who live here laugh and giggle as their parents push them in this wonderful swing. But what captured my attention on this day was the shadow. It struck me that the swing doubles as a kind of sun dial, the shadow moving as the earth makes its way around the sun each day. I thought how interesting it would be to mark the shadow’s path on the lawn during this season. Hours could be indicated by stakes driven into the lawn. The children could learn about time and the concept of how time passes. But I realized that these parents are probably already very aware of how time is passing. My guess is that each day something indicates how quickly their children are growing up. I also realized that the stakes would be accurate for only a short time. The time change comes soon. The season changes. The angle of t

  Ever since I was a little boy influenced by cartoons and movies, I have associated any variety of cactus plant with the desert. Even now, seeing a cactus turns my thoughts to sand, heat, rocky terrain and an all around inhospitable environment. My childhood was also deeply influenced by Sunday School. In the Bible stories I learned there were many references to the desert and to the wilderness, and thus the action of these stories always unfolded in the desert imagery of my mind. Whether Moses and the wandering people or John the Baptizer thundering away at the Jordan River, there are cacti in my imagination. So as I make my way through my neighborhood, upon seeing this cactus I always think of the story of Jesus in the wilderness being tempted. This story is the traditional text for worship on the first Sunday of the season of Lent. It also reminds me that the deserts and the wildernesses we encounter take many forms. Instead of sand, our wilderness may have nice sidewalks. Instead

  Today we awake to Ash Wednesday. In my faith tradition, this day begins the season of Lent, a time of reflection, prayer and discipline that prepares us to fully celebrate Easter. Lent is a period of roughly 40 days leading up to that high holy day. Some people give up something they love as a reminder to tend to their souls and make more room for God in their life. Others take up a new practice that will help them deepen their awareness of God in the everydays of their lives. As a community of faith, we focus on walking with each other through the journey of growth with all its joys and struggles. As I came upon the bridge that spans the creek in our neighborhood park, the water was low and the winter weather had left behind dead leaves and limbs. It was a harsh and barren sight. But then I caught a glimpse of the sun reflecting off the water just downstream. Through the dormant trees I saw that the life of the creek continued on. This season reminds us that, though our lives go thr

  Adjacent to our neighborhood park is a recreation center, complete with swimming pool and water slides. The gym stays busy all year round, of course, from early til late. During the swim season, the pool is a bee hive of fun and activity. In those months, when you walk the path in that corner of the park, you hear laughter and splashing and young voices at play. You can sense the energy. On a recent walk, for some reason I was struck by the silence. I wondered what the pool was like in the dormant season of winter. So I did a little exploring and found a door with windows that allowed me to catch a glimpse. It was interesting. The cover over the waters, the open spaces devoid of lounge chairs and people, the dry concrete - everything seemed so clean and neat. But the most striking thing about the place was the silence. We do not get much silence in our lives these days. The buzz of lights and the muffled roar of air conditioning is the soundtrack of even our quietest moments. Our ove