May 29

Outside the Back Door

icon1 Posted by Dean Ohlman |  icon4 May 29th, 2011
icon2 Filed in beauty, Nature, outdoors |  icon3 3 Comments » 

[The LORD] makes springs pour water into the ravines; it flows between the mountains. They give water to all the beasts of the field; the wild donkeys quench their thirst. The birds of the air nest by the waters; they sing among the branches. He waters the mountains from his upper chambers; the earth is satisfied by the fruit of his work. . . . How many are your works, O LORD! In wisdom you made them all; the earth is full of your creatures. (Psalm 104:10-13, 24).

A hundred years ago, mass media communication was in its infancy.  So most folks here in Michigan would have had little knowledge, if any, of disasters such as the devastating tornadoes this spring. Life for them would be going on as normal, their tending to day-to-day chores and attending to nature outside their own back doors.  Now, because of the constant and oppressive flow of bad news from the world, we often need to deliberately take our minds of the crises, take out the lawn chairs, and sit down to absorb the joys of creation outside our back doors.

One who did that well was inspirational writer, poet, and bird watcher Margaret Clarkson (1915-2008), writer of the beloved missionary hymn “So Send I You” put to music by the late John W. Peterson.  Take a break with me, sit down in that mental easy chair, and let Margaret help rest your mind and soul:

Sometimes I like to take my boat and wander off to parts of the river where variations in habitat make it possible to see or hear birds not commonly found along my own stretch of shore.  Early one June morning I glided into a shallow backwater surrounded by deep forest.  As always, I could hear more than I could see; I was soon aware of the presence of wild things not to be found in my own light bush and rock-strewn, swiftly flowing waters.

With a startled squawk a great blue heron rose on silent wing, disappeared over the treetops, flying with long, slow gracefully measured beat, head drawn back on his breast, long legs trailing.  The nasal “Yank! Yank! of a red-breasted nuthatch sounded urgently from afar; the hollow wooden clucking of a black-billed cuckoo rattled eerily from some alders by the water.

High overhead a warbling vireo burst into song, his lovely, liquid phrases incredibly beautiful.  Hidden in the forest floor, an artless wood thrush poured out his fluted melody, his pure clear, clear notes mounting into the air like ever-increasing arcs of pure gold.  The bold, bright whistle of an oriole rang out to his nesting mate as he rejoiced again and again in the wonder of new life.  From far away came the plaintive serene sweetness of the song of a white-throated sparrow.  In a clearing on the edge of the wood a purple finch sang in an ecstasy of abandon, as if all known joys were his and must be expressed in his song.  And high in the branches overhead the shy, sweet piping of a reflective chickadee mingled with the soft rhythmic tapping of a wood pecker.

I listened for an hour, then started home.  Why are the finest singers always somewhere else? I mused as I passed an open stretch alive with the music of indigo buntings and goldfinches.  Why did my rocky acre seem to have so little of the glory that had refreshed and delighted me here?

As I turned into my own little cove and moored the skiff, suddenly a song sparrow at my side released a rivulet of sparkling crystal song on the morning air.  Again and again he sang, as if his little heart would burst: “Sweet, sweet, sweet, oh sweet, sweet!” he caroled.  “Sweet, sweet, sweet!”  What could have been more beautiful?

My heart was filled with shame.  Here he lived, at my very door, singing his vibrant, heartwarming song from dawn to dusk.  A tiny brown creature, so drab as to be almost invisible among the twigs and grasses where he makes his home, he lives modestly and happily in almost any terrain, ceaselessly ministering grace to all who have ears to hear.

Every habitat must by its very nature exclude many of birdland’s most gifted choristers.  We must travel about from spot to spot if would hear their magnificent music or hope to view their vivid, flashing wings.  But the homely song sparrow with his tiny, throbbing throat spreads beauty and joy, courage and hope almost everywhere.

We may not all have the opportunity to thrill daily to the songs of nature’s most exotic singers, but God has left few of us without His song sparrows.  May we become aware of them and learn to listen to their message with gratitude and thanksgiving!

[Margaret's story and photos at Wheaton College]
[Look up and listen to all the birds Margaret refers to at the online Cornell Bird Guide]

Thanks for this important message, Margaret!

May 27

The Comforting Rod and Staff

icon1 Posted by Dean Ohlman |  icon4 May 27th, 2011
icon2 Filed in Biblical worldview, Nature, outdoors |  icon3 Comment now » 

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me (Psalm23:4).

The Lord said to Moses, “Speak to the Israelites and get twelve staffs from them, one from the leader of each of their ancestral tribes. Write the name of each man on his staff. On the staff of Levi write Aaron’s name, for there must be one staff for the head of each ancestral tribe. Place them in the Tent of Meeting in front of the Testimony, where I meet with you. The staff belonging to the man I choose will sprout, and I will rid myself of this constant grumbling against you by the Israelites” (Numbers 17:1-5).

This is a reprint of an earlier post that has for some reason “gone viral” in a small way on the Internet.

Early spring is the ideal time for finding hiking sticks in the Michigan woods.  And as the photo indicates, I’ve done that many times!  I think there are about 60 of them resting on our garage rafters where I put them to dry.  There are probably about 40 or so more in my shop and standing in various corners of the garage.  I used to carve or dress them with leather grips and thongs and sell them in craft stores.  April is ideal because the snow has laid everything flat in the woods, and there are still no big leaves on trees and bushes.  So spotting good straight sticks is easy. [Photo: A few of my sticks drying in the garage rafters -DO]

Once when I was on RBC’s Day of Discovery crew doing TV video shoots in Israel, I brought back a couple sticks as reminders of my time in the Holy Land, one of them of olive wood and the other cypress.  Getting them out of Israel was no problem, but when I got to customs in the US, I was told I had to take them to the agricultural check station for clearance.  The agricultural agent looked them over and then asked me what I was going to do with them.  “They are my rod and staff and they comfort me,” I spontaneously replied.  He chuckled, handed them back to me, and said, “Go ahead”!

On another trip I brought back a two-foot rod that our guide found when we were doing a shoot in the “Shepherds’ Fields” outside Bethlehem where it’s believed the angels announced to the shepherds the birth of Jesus.  These same fields were likely trod by David, Boaz, Naomi, and Ruth.  I’ve seen young Palestinians riding donkeys and using rods like that one to keep the beasts moving—much like Balaam tried to do (Numbers 22).  It’s actually made from the center spine of a date palm frond.  I treasure it.

Because collecting and making hiking sticks is a hobby, I’ve often thought about the frequent mention of rods and staffs in the Bible.  There are different words in the Hebrew Old Testament for the two kinds of shaft, but they are used interchangeably; so it’s difficult to determine what the difference is.  Eight times they are both used in the same passage—so there must have been a distinction between them that escapes us today.  As with the agricultural agent at the customs station, the biblical mention of both staves together that we’re most familiar with is the one in the 23rd Psalm, where David speaks of them as giving him comfort.

Another significant account about the rod is that of Moses conversing with Jehovah, who was speaking from the burning bush (Exodus 4).  At the beginning of the narrative, Moses’ shepherding rod is merely a stick for human use, but after God does miracles with it and instructs Moses to use it to make clear to the Egyptian pharaoh holding the children of Israel in captivity that he must let them go free, it’s called “the rod of God.”  Pharaoh certainly came to know also that is was the rod of God! It was the delivering rod for Israel and a rod of blessing throughout the Exodus, but it was a punishing rod for Egypt.

Sadly, it was also the rod of judgment on Moses because in striking the rock with it and saying, “Listen, you rebels, must we bring you water out of this rock?” God did not permit him to enter the Promised Land. There is a lot of speculation on why this was such an egregious sin that it would result in such a seemingly harsh consequence.  My viewpoint on it comes from the statement made by Moses, not necessarily by his act either of disobedience or a failed attempt to follow God’s directions.  He said, “must we bring you water.”  Well, Moses and Aaron were not the ones who brought them water: it was God. The result is that the people could come to think that Moses and Aaron had the power, not God and the rod God made miraculous.  That sort of presumptive power pattern has been rampant in the church through the centuries.  Leaders with a large human following often forget that their power is from God, not from themselves.  You and I could probably name a number of leaders like that whom God had to bench permanently for such arrogance.

Then there’s Aaron’s rod that budded miraculously to show that Aaron’s descendants were the legitimate priests of God for Israel. It was to be a reminder stick kept as a testimony in the Ark of the Covenant (Numbers 17 and Hebrews 9:4).  Hence a rod must be the shorter of the two.

When all the biblical references are considered, the following meaning comes from the rod and staff: as with a shepherd (figurative of Jesus) they are used to protect against enemies, to discipline, to guide, and to rescue.  It’s also fitting that a royal scepter is called a rod.  And a rod is frequently mentioned as a weapon. A staff is indicated as a ruler’s symbol of authority that stands between his feet—indicating that a staff is likely the longer of the two. The many references to leaning on one’s staff would be further indication that it was likely at least shoulder high.

What does not seem to appear in Scripture is the shepherd’s staff with a crook—the one we see in most Christmas pageants. Because a stick with a crook could be used to pull lambs and sheep out of dangerous places, it eventually did become a common shepherd’s tool in many parts of the world.  (The kind that has a reverse curve on the end is called a leg cleek.  It’s purpose is to grab the leg of a sheep below the knee where it is narrow, but not allow the hoof to slip through. )  (Source of photo here.)

What a beautiful representation these instruments are of our Shepherd and Savior.  He cares for us, protects us, and guides us as with His staff.  He disciplines us with His rod.  Not only that, He is our Lord, the King of kings and has the sole right to carry the ruling scepter as the monarch of the coming Kingdom.  Jesus is our loving Shepherd who will become our eternal ruling Lord.

So why not go out this coming month and cut yourself a good walking stick, and keep it by your door to remind yourself to get outdoors and enjoy His creation, and to remind you of Creator Jesus’ loving care and His redemption of all the earth over which He will reign—perhaps soon! [Photo: Some of my finished sticks: L to R---sassafras, oak, hickory, yucca, and date palm frond spine ---DO.  Click on photos to see larger size.]

May 25

Infinitely Connected

icon1 Posted by Dean Ohlman |  icon4 May 25th, 2011
icon2 Filed in beauty, Creator, Nature |  icon3 Comment now » 

The LORD. . . sends forth springs in the valleys ; they flow between the mountains ; they give drink to every beast of the field; the wild donkeys quench their thirst. Beside them the birds of the heavens dwell ; they lift up their voices among the branches. He waters the mountains from His upper chambers ; the earth is satisfied with the fruit of His works. He causes the grass to grow for the cattle, and vegetation for the labor of man, so that he may bring forth food from the earth, and wine which makes man’s heart glad, so that he may make his face glisten with oil, and food which sustains man’s heart. The trees of the LORD drink their fill, the cedars of Lebanon which He planted, where the birds build their nests, and the stork, whose home is the fir trees. The high mountains are for the wild goats ; the cliffs are a refuge for the [rock badgers]. He made the moon for the seasons ; the sun knows the place of its setting. You appoint darkness and it becomes night, in which all the beasts of the forest prowl about. The young lions roar after their prey and seek their food from God. When the sun rises they withdraw and lie down in their dens. Man goes forth to his work and to his labor until evening.  O LORD, how many are Your works ! In wisdom You have made them all ; the earth is full of Your possessions (Psalm 104:10-24).

If I had my druthers, I’d live in a house with a large back deck that overlooks a wooded marsh with some open water.  I could spend my waning years taking in the cycle of seasons and observing the wildlife that often makes marshes such a dynamic—and dramatic—ecosystem.

I get a bit of that experience when I bring a sling chair, my binoculars, and my camera to take in the wonderful wildness of a large marsh hardly a half mile from the RBC building, a preserved wetland surrounded by hotels, factories, office buildings, Costco, Staples, Target, and Dick’s Sporting Goods [The link above is to Google Maps.  RBC is the white-roofed building north and east of I96 and Kraft]. Most of these buildings went up after the Clean Water Act, hence saving the marsh.  Now many of the establishments around it actually celebrate it—some with groomed overlooks that had to cost thousands of dollars.

Typical players there are tree swallows, red-winged blackbirds, mallards, geese (by far the noisiest members of the cast), blue herons, swans, and all the typical backyard birds of this area.  It is a virtual bird metropolis.  Saving that urban natural area has turned it into a treasure, and an easy-to-reach spot where this grandpa can take his grandchildren to see wildlife close-up. [Photo source]

Dr. Cal DeWitt, former professor of ecological studies at the University of Wisconsin and former director of the Au Sable Institute for Environmental Studies, is a good friend—and he [the lucky duck!] lives on a huge marsh: the Waubesa Wetlands.  Once when he was campaigning for wetlands conservation and restoration in his township, he came across a couple farmers who told him they didn’t see much value in preserving their wetlands.  Dr. DeWitt knew they were both avid pike fisherman.  As an ecologist, when he explained to them that pike fingerlings depended upon wetlands for their survival, he won their support.

The truth, however,  is that all natural systems are important in God’s scheme of things—the value of most of them not so quickly grasped.  That God would care for a sparrow, the humblest and least attractive of birds, ought to be a sign to us that we should not see anything in nature’s community as being valueless or unnecessary.  All things in nature are interrelated—a fact well put by John Muir: “When we try to pick out anything by itself we find that it is bound fast by a thousand invisible cords that cannot be broken to everything in the universe. ” Unspoiled wilderness provides us with the best of laboratories in which to learn about these connections.  That fact may well have been what Henry David Thoreau had in mind when he said “in wildness is the salvation of the earth.”

Modern science often gives us the impression that we really understand the complexity of wild nature.  The truth, however, was stated well by another ecologist: Frank Egler: “[Wilderness ecosystems] are not only more complex than we think, they are more complex than we can think.”  It’s in part because of such complex interconnectedness that our planet’s wild areas make us humble—which is the right attitude to have in the presence of our Creator and His priceless handiwork.  Maybe we are finally learning how foolish it is to destroy or drastically alter the systems God has put in place for His creatures—creatures that may not mean much to us, yet ones He cherishes and delights in.  “The LORD is good to all; he has compassion on all he has made” (Psalm 145:9).

Do we have compassion on all He has made—and are we seeking to do good toward all He has made?

May 24

New “Ambling” Post

icon1 Posted by Dean Ohlman |  icon4 May 24th, 2011
icon2 Filed in Uncategorized |  icon3 Comment now » 

This year I’ve decided to learn more about the life cycles of the trees in the area, and spring is the ideal time to do that. As is virtually always the case, what I’ve learned is amazing. In today’s “Ambling” entry, I share (as illustrated by my photos) what I recently discovered about how the conifers (evergreens) reproduce.

May 23

Under a Spell

icon1 Posted by Dean Ohlman |  icon4 May 23rd, 2011
icon2 Filed in beauty, belief systems, Biblical worldview, Creator, Nature |  icon3 Comment now » 

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning. Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made. In him was life, and that life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness, but the darkness has not understood it. . . .  He was in the world, and though the world was made through him, the world did not recognize him. He came to that which was his own, but his own did not receive him. Yet to all who received him, to those who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God—children born not of natural descent, nor of human decision or a husband’s will, but born of God. The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the One and Only, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth (John 1:1-14).

I’m still reflecting on Kathleen Dean Moore’s Wild Comfort: The Solace of Nature.  My reading of such a sincere and artfully crafted book on nature brought to mind the significance of the name of this Website: “The Wonder of Creation” not “The Wonder of Nature.”  The difference at first might seem small but it is immense in what it implies about both solace and joy.

To most people of a modern scientific bent “nature” means everything material—and “material” defines what is real.  Though there might be something we call “spiritual,” it is but a state of mind that has no ultimate reality.  The natural is all that really exists.  What we call supernatural or spiritual is a human mental invention.  At this stage in her life Kathleen and what she reveals about her biologist husband, Frank, indicates that they are naturalists—metaphysical naturalists: those who would hold that the material cosmos is all that exists (or at least what we can know exists).  In all her love of nature and nature’s enchantment so beautifully expressed, however, she reveals that she is agnostic, not atheistic.  That’s a standpoint that still has hope.  It’s probably a temporarily safe middle ground for a philosopher not yet willing to commit.  At one point Kathleen makes reference to the philosopher George Berkeley:

The whole of creation is held in God’s eyes, Berkeley says.  Divine attention, divine seeing and hearing and even touching (imagine the electricity of this touch) bring the world into existence and hold it there.  It occurs to me that if God does not exist, one must suppose the entire onus is on us to hold the world in existence by paying attention.  One might need to take this responsibility seriously.

Here she reveals the negative side of her agnosticism: God may not exist.   As she reflects on a crashing waterfall she sees the “joke” of the human desire to find meaning in world that ultimately has none:

I should be careful about looking for lessons in rivers.  Rivers fall because the rock has disappeared from under them—that’s why.  The force of water falling grinds a deep place out of rock and shoves up a weir of stone—and would do, and will do whether we live or die.  Rivers flow downhill.  Rivers fall off cliffs.  You cannot trust them.  This is the way the world is.  Life is a joke—exactly that joke, all of us falling to our deaths from the moment we are born.  Where is meaning to be found in such a world—this world, this black rock, rock wren, heartrending world?

On a walk in which she again contemplates meaning (or the lack thereof) in the behavior of a flock of geese, she asks herself, “Why am I looking for meaning instead of looking for geese?  Maybe it’s not what the facts of the world point to, but the facts of the world themselves that should entrance me.”

In an earlier column, I asked how John Muir’s understanding of the Jesus that his mean-tempered and religiously ugly father turned him away from might have been different if he would have met his godly contemporary George MacDonald.  I wonder too how Kathleen Moore might be affected by meeting C. S. Lewis whose agnosticism was turned to faith by the Spirit of the living Christ.  Perhaps she has read Lewis and been left unaffected.  I don’t know.  In his essay “On Living in an Atomic Age,” Lewis seems to be addressing Moore:

Nature does not, in the long run, favour life.  If Nature is all that exists—in other words, if there is no God and no life of some quite different sort somewhere outside Nature—then all stories will end in the same way: in a universe from which all life is banished without possibility of return.  It will have been an accidental flicker, and there will be on one even to remember it.
[Lewis photo source]

Kathleen Dean Moore has not yet reached this conclusion.  She still has hope:

If we had no hope, nothing could harm us.  We could choose to die by our own hands [one naturalist's response suggested by Lewis] and by that act, frustrate all our demons.  But hope empowers also all the good in the world.  Hope keeps us alive, even as we all move toward inevitable death.  This is essential.  To hold on, fiercely to hold on, even if we believe we are condemned to “a life without consolation,” is the one triumph open to us.  In the end, the fact of life so fully seized becomes the consolation.
[Photo source]

Her vacillation between hope and despair, between joy and meaninglessness is indeed heart-rending.  She finds solace in nature’s beauty and in music like finale of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony that celebrates Schillers’ “Ode to Joy”—and Lewis responds:

The books or the music in which we thought the beauty was located will betray us if we trust to them; it was not in them, it only came through them, and what came through them was longing.  These things—the beauty, the memory of our own past—are good images of what we really desire; but if they are mistaken for the thing itself they turn to dumb idols, breaking the heart  of their worshipers.  For they are not the thing itself; they are only the scent of the flower we have not found, the echo of a tune we have not heard, news from a country we have not yet visited.  Do you think I am trying to weave a spell?  Perhaps I am; but remember your fairy tales.  Spells are used for breaking enchantments  as well as for inducing them.  And you and I have need of the strongest spell that can be found to wake us from the evil enchantment of worldliness which has been laid on us for nearly a hundred years.  (The Weight of Glory Sermon delivered in 1942).

I believe the particular worldliness C.S. Lewis speaks of here is the spell of scientific naturalism and its consequences for mankind and God’s good earth.  How I pray that this spell will broken for Kathleen and Frank Moore—and for the millions who have yet to put their faith in the One in which Lewis ultimately—and surprisingly—found true joy.

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