Walks with Barry - Profoundly Simple: A Walk Reframed

  As I stepped outside I was confronted with these beautiful roses. My first thought was, “When did this happen?” I am certain these weren’t in bloom the day before. Or were they? I do know that I have done nothing to care for these rose bushes since last year. They have not been fertilized. They have not been trimmed. They have not been tended in any way after being exposed through all the winter’s freezing weather. Yet here they are, strong and beautiful as ever. The word that came to my mind was resilient. These are tough roses. They endure. They take all Mother Nature has to give and come back to share their beauty once more. It seems to me that this is a big part of what makes them beautiful. From what appears to be nothing more than a tangle of dead thorns, the most beautiful of flowers bloom again. I have known some people like this along the way of my journey. They have endured hard times. They have weathered many storms. At times their lives have seemed nothing more than a tan

  My phone holds more photographs than I can sift through in any meaningful way. As I have moved from phone to phone across the years, somehow the magic works and they go with me. Over the past two years, the number of photos taken each week has grown considerably. As I capture an image, I begin to think about what it says to me and how I might share my reflections in a meaningful way. You might be able to imagine my surprise at this photograph as I sat down to write this morning. It seems to be a perfect image of, well, nothing. What was I trying to capture when I took this picture? Where was I? How did I not notice my failure and delete this shot immediately? As I chose a photo each morning, how did this blank shot go unnoticed? So this morning I find myself wondering. I wonder what had captured my attention so as to warrant a photo. I wonder if I took a picture of something serene and peaceful or funny and wild. I wonder if that photo was my best photo yet. I wonder. Why am I obsess

  We live in a culture obsessed with big things. Big sports arenas and stadiums. Big houses. Big trucks. Big churches. Big bank accounts. Big celebrations. Big plans. Big meals. Big is not bad, but our obsession with big can cause us to miss out on some amazing things. As I walked along on this sunny afternoon, I was taking in all there was to see in my neighborhood. I had almost passed this house and moved on to the next when I just happened to look down and notice these small flowers. They were in a bed with much taller plants and flowers, which I had seen from a distance. I am grateful they caught my eye; they were the most beautiful flowers in the garden. These little flowers gave me pause. How many blessings do we miss because our eyes are only searching for big? Small things are not necessarily insignificant, just as big things are not necessarily better. Little flowers. A quiet moment in the chaos of the day. A few words shared with someone special. A brief nap when we are tired

  After overcast skies and thunder storms, the moon finally manages to break through and shine into the night. I find it interesting how, after a brief absence, the moon seems so bright, brighter than I remember. Even with the street lights, the moon shines through. The Psalmist writes that the sun, moon and stars are reminders to us as we plow through our days and weeks and months and years. “To him who made the great lights, for his steadfast love endures forever; the sun to rule over the day, for his steadfast love endures forever; the moon and stars to rule over the night, for his steadfast love endures forever”. Each time we see the sun, we should celebrate the wonderful news that God’s “steadfast love endures forever.” Each time we take in the stars stretched across the sky, we should recall that God’s “steadfast love endures forever.” But my favorite is the moon. The moon reminds me that God’s “steadfast love endures forever”, even in the dark of night. Sometimes the moon seems

  After over two years of writing and reflecting on the little things that I find on my walks, I have begun to notice some interesting changes from time to time as I cover the streets. This house has a new color on the trim. That tree has a new swing. This yard has added a sprinkler system. That is a different car in the driveway. That fence has been stained. So many little things that capture my attention after so many trips down the sidewalks of the neighborhood. As I passed this small garden, I did a double take as I saw out of the corner of my eye what appeared to be a small dinosaur going for my ankle. Hidden in the rocks, it had a prime position from which to attack anyone walking by. As I paused, laughing, to take a picture, I realized I knew this dinosaur. I had seen it before. I had written about it before. This creature usually stood watch on a picnic table back further in the yard, surrounded by a few other planters of various shapes and sizes. I suppose it just needed a cha

  I always look forward to passing this house on my walks during the weeks of Spring. The homeowner chose to dedicate part of their lawn to wildflowers. A bold move, and one I enjoy each year. On this particular afternoon, I happened to pass by as the shadows of sunset fell upon the blue bonnets. I was struck by the two level contrast. On one level there was the sharp line between the manicured lawn and the wildflowers. And, due to the perfect timing of my passing, there was the contrast between shadow and light. It seems to me that this image captures the nature of life fairly well. Life is not all sunshine, nor is it all shadow. Even in the shadow, the beauty remains. We may not see it as clearly, or at times we may not see it at all, but the blue bonnets still bloom. Then the earth turns again and the light returns. When we are in the shadow, it is easy to forget that the light will shine again. Call it faith, call it hope, call it optimism; whatever we call it we need to remember t

  As I walked one of the lovely blocks in my neighborhood, I found this trimmer lying perfectly parallel to the sidewalk. It is all clean and intact, no missing parts. This tool has obviously been well cared for by the owner. The lawn of the home is well ahead of most of their neighbors. It is already thick and green. The grass had been freshly mowed and perfectly edged. I could not help but think that the trimmer was just taking a break in the shade after a job well done. Like a character in the animated version of “Beauty and the Beast”, I imagined that at any moment it would spring to life and dance away. Sometimes people can be a bit like this trimmer. They look perfectly fine to all who pass by. They do not look broken or worn out or used up, but they are, or they feel that they are. Though their lawns are green and their edges trimmed, they are tired and exhausted. The prophet Jeremiah writes, “For I will satisfy the weary soul, and every languishing soul I will replenish.” Isn’t

  As Spring cleaning continues in the neighborhood, all manner of interesting things make their way to the curb to be picked up by the city. There are countless trash bags of who knows what, and boxes filled with the same. Then there are the individual items that always seem to spark my memories and imagination. This turntable made me smile. My big brother and I had a small phonograph on which we played our little 45 rpm records. In our living room we had a stereo on which we enjoyed playing everything from classical piano recordings by Liberace to an album that demonstrated the marvel of stereophonic recording through various and random sounds. As we got older, we would spend our allowance on records that we heard and loved on the radio. I spent much of my life loving music. I began singing in a choir when I was 3 or 4 years old, and I have sung in a choir to this day. I often mark time in my life by the music of my life. Each of our lives has its own soundtrack. Music marks our child

  After a beautiful and powerful Easter morning celebrating with the wonderful congregation I am blessed to serve, I took a walk in the late afternoon to stretch my legs and see what interesting sights there were to see. As I made this block and turned the corner, I saw this row of beautiful purple Iris. It was a stunning and beautiful surprise. As I passed, it seemed as though I was literally walking into Spring. The air was warm, the breeze cool, the light held the definite feel of the seasonal change of the clocks. The flowers brought to mind that on the first Easter, it was in a garden where Mary Magdalene wept alone, waiting for the dawn. In my mind I imagined Jesus, walking out of the tomb into a resurrected life. Yes, as I passed these lovely flowers, I celebrated Easter all over again. That is the thing about Easter, it is not a once a year experience. Easter is the proclamation that Jesus is alive and with us every day. Easter is the proclamation that nothing, not even death,

  I have learned over these past two years that each new season or holiday calls for a trip to my neighborhood dinosaur. The family always makes sure that their creature is appropriately attired and celebrates all special days in style. I especially appreciated the Easter hat this year. It seemed to me that this dinosaur was on his way home from church when I saw him yesterday. This Easter has been celebrated in very difficult times. But, then again, it always is. The story itself was born in the midst of oppression and violence. The story itself was born in the deepest valley of the shadow of death. In these days of war and division and problems that seem insurmountable, I recall the words of Pope John Paul II who wrote, “Do not abandon yourselves to despair. We are the Easter people and hallelujah is our song.” Easter people can remind the world that there is hope, that even in the darkness God is bringing new life. We cannot always see it. We may not always feel it. Mary Magdalene w

  We have come to this day we call Good Friday. We began the week with the waving of palm branches and shouts of “Hosanna!” We have listened to Jesus teach. We have watched as he ran the money changers and animals out of the Temple. We have joined Jesus and the twelve disciples around the table and shared the bread and cup. And, now, it is Friday. When the sun sets today, Jesus will have been betrayed and arrested. He will have been placed on trial and convicted. He will have been beaten and mocked. As darkness falls this day, Jesus will have been nailed to a cross and crucified. He will have died and been laid in a tomb. And then it is night. Isaac Watts expressed the events of Good Friday in this poem: When I survey the wondrous cross On which the Prince of glory died, My richest gain I count but loss, And pour contempt on all my pride. Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast, Save in the death of Christ my God! All the vain things that charm me most, I sacrifice them to His blood. See

  It is that time of year. It is always interesting to see the various timelines by which the different trees come back to life. Some are full of leaves. Some are as bare as the dead of winter. Some are in the process. All are on their way in their own time. As we draw closer to Easter, we see in the story of Jesus’ visit to Bethany how we are on our own timelines as well. At the home of Simon the Leper, the woman who anoints Jesus with costly oils is way ahead of the disciples who complained of the wasted money in her act of love. She could see that the time had come. She could see that things were changing. She could see, somehow, that in the death of her beloved Jesus, new life would spring forth. I believe she could see this because that new life had already begun in her. Wherever we are on our timeline toward new life, we would do well to remember that the journey of faith is not a race against one another. Rather, it is a walk with Jesus who meets us where we are and bids us foll

  Our area has been experiencing the usual thunderstorms of the season in Texas. Bright, sunny days can shift to torrential downpours in a flash. Then, just as quickly, the sun returns. And it is always interesting to see how the rain changes things. All manner of trash is swept along by these heavy rains. Brown grass turns green. Weary flowers perk up. On this particular walk, my attention was captured by the pattern of leaves left behind by the runoff, clearly showing where the water had flowed. The leaves were gathered in lines that curve gracefully on a gentle slope toward the creek. The space between the curving rows of leaves was surprisingly free of debris. It was if it had been washed clean by the rain. As we move into the middle of Holy Week, this reminds me that the love that flowed from God through Jesus long ago continues to flow through the world and through our lives, washing us clean. As with the rain, we can see where the love has flowed. Love changes things. Love chang

As the bright sunlight shown through the branches of this huge old tree, it seemed to me as if the pattern cast by the shadows of the limbs turned the lawn into a huge stained glass window, all in green. For a moment I felt as though I stood silent in a great outdoor cathedral. This led me to ponder how it was the shadows that created this image. Without the tree, the lawn would still be green, but unnoticed. The sun would still be shining as bright, but so much would be lost without the shadows. That is the purpose of our worship experiences and reflections during Holy Week. Between Palm Sunday and Easter we take some time to live in the shadows. The shadow of the threat from religious authorities who oppose the teachings of Jesus. The shadow of time running out with the disciples still not understanding. The shadow of betrayal. The shadow of denial. The shadow of a cross. We cannot see Easter in all its beauty without the shadows bringing into focus the love that guided Jesus through

  As summer arrived over the last few days bringing 85 degree temperatures, the neighborhood has sprung back to full activity mode. Families are enjoying picnics in the park. Children are playing. The tennis courts are full. Runners are running and walkers are walking. Another cycle is complete and a new season is marked by Spring. My timing was such that I passed the soccer fields before they were filled with games. I’m not sure why this detail captured my attention, but it did. Were I to be in the habit of naming my photographs, this one would be titled, “The Almost Straight Line”. I think that is why it caught my eye, how “almost” straight it is. Were it all wiggly and wobbly, I wouldn’t have noticed. Were it straight as a yardstick edge, It never would have made my radar. It is the “almost” that did it. We tend to have two different ways of seeing life, we humans. When we look at the life of another, we see a crooked line. Our personal feelings toward an individual, or the group i

  This looks as if it could be the Easter equivalent of Santa’s workshop: plastic eggs, piles of candy and an assembly line of youth filling the eggs. It was a fun project and, somehow, most of the candy made it into the eggs! These are going to be delivered to children in the congregation and contain an invitation to all our Holy Week activities. That special week begins Sunday. This time in the life of the church is an invitation to all of us to enter into the story of Jesus’ last week. On Sunday, we join the cheering crowd that greeted Jesus at the gate of Jerusalem. On Thursday we gather around the table and share in his last meal with the disciples. Friday brings the darkness of crucifixion. As we remember the story, hearing it again as if for the first time, we listen for where we are in it. Would we be cheering to hear that Jesus draws near? Would we turn against him or deny him? Would we learn from his example of humility and strive for servanthood instead of power? Could we se

  As I made my way through the park one morning, I passed the ball fields. After a stormy night, a layer of fog had settled in. As the sun rose higher in the sky, the fog began to lift, leaving the landscape with an “other worldly” feel. Our neighborhood now included, at least temporarily, its own field of dreams. As I gazed across the rain soaked diamond, I thought of the people I would like to meet and visit once more if I had my own personal field of dreams. My mother and father top the list. There are so many. My dearest friend with whom I was ordained and shared years of ministry. My mentor. Young parishioners who died much too young. All the saints that will forever hold a piece of my heart. To see their faces and hear their voices once more would be heaven. In my imagination I meet with people long past. As I read the story of Jesus, I enter into the events as best I can. The week to come is full of such opportunity. Palm Sunday opens the door to Holy Week, where we can join the

  Spring is busting out all over. Everywhere I look flowers are blooming. Yesterday was hot and sunny, and you could almost see the flowers pushing up toward the sky. I love the different colors and shapes and sizes of flowers. The variety makes me think of creation and a creator who thoroughly enjoys the act of creating. Flowers seem to me to express the joy of God. But my favorite kind of flower is the “in between” flower, like this particular one. Full of buds, yet the buds are in all stages. Some are still tight. Some are unfolding. Some are in full blossom. It seems we get a glimpse of the entire life cycle of the plant in a single moment. If only we could see our lives in such a way. I think that is how God sees us. I believe God sees us in our completeness. The best in us and the worst in us. Our deepest moments of devotion and our times of disregard for God. The good choices we make and the unfortunate choices we make. Our successes and our failures. Our strengths and our weakn

  Yesterday our church was visited by a pair of odd ducks. Literally, odd ducks. We don’t usually have ducks. But as I arrived to campus in the early morning, two ducks were visiting our new construction. I watched them as they waddled out of the not yet completed building. They took a bit of time in what will be the main entrance to the building, checking out the concrete work. I laughed as I watched them make their way to the crosswalk before they traversed the driveway and headed toward the other buildings. I found this scene quite amusing and went on my way to begin my work. Later, as I walked around the buildings, enjoying a beautiful clear day, I saw them in the prayer garden. Later still, they were by the entrance to the children’s building, watching humans unload food for a big dinner that was happening in an hour or so. I never dreamed that these odd ducks had spent the entire day with us. I’m glad they found a home, at least for a day, in a peaceful place with kind people. I

  I do not often take pictures at night. Sunrises and sunsets, yes, but not often at night. After an evening meeting, I was walking through the long hallway that connects two of the buildings at our church. One wall is glass and looks out into the courtyard that is home to our baptismal garden. People are baptized there. I have done weddings there. Our youth often break into small groups there on Sunday evenings. On any given day, individuals might be found there, sitting and praying and collecting their thoughts. We recently added a columbarium as a part of this space. It is a lovely, peaceful and sacred spot in this frantic and chaotic world. As we walked through the hallway, a friend pointed out this night time visitor. We have no shortage of rabbits on our property, but they are usually on the move. This one, alone and still, seems to be transfixed by something. He is facing the columbarium, where several of our beloved community have been laid to rest. Our little friend seemed to

  As our congregation has made the Lenten journey together, we have witnessed a transformation in our sanctuary. We began the journey with displays of leafless sticks and branches, representing Jesus’ forty days in the wilderness. Little by little, week by week, the displays have changed from lifeless to new growth to buds. As Easter draws near, we begin to see new life. On that day of celebration, the sanctuary will be fillled with lilies in full bloom. And, hopefully, we will have grown into new life ourselves. As I walked through the sanctuary, the sun was coming through the cupola at just the right angle to illuminate one of the displays. It appeared as an art installation in a fine gallery. The lighting was just right. Yes, the colors were beautiful, but what was most powerful was it seemed the branches were reaching up, striving for the light. I found it a perfect image for the journey through Lent. Paul writes to the followers of Jesus in Rome, “We were buried therefore with him