Beneath the Surface

It has been amazing, to us, to see and discover all that lives and grows beneath the surface of the earth. During our time in the Dordogne, we merely scratched the surface. In the first cave we visited, the stalagtytes have grown, not only in vertical, but also in horizontal formations, giving an appearance that may be likened to stars in the night sky. Necks craned and heads tilted back, we star-gazed beneath the surface of the earth. It was every bit as awe-inspiring as watching the stars in the sky...and to see these intricate and infinitely fascinating formations growing, unbeknownedst to us, underground, was a fresh reminder of the many mysteries that are a part of our universe.

In two other caves, we began to learn about the etchings of the humans who inhabited the Dordogne 12,000-20,000 years ago. Fascinating enough are the caves themselves, still actively growing stalagtytes and stalagmytes...columns as thin as a strand of spaghetti or as rotund as the trunk of a centuries-old tree. Did you know that when these columns are broken, they cease growing? Another mystery.

Even more fascinating, are the drawings that have been discovered on the walls of the cave. No one knows why they drew...but it is believed there may have been a spiritual purpose to the drawings. Indeed, one of the guides described the cave as a sanctuary, holy ground. To the untrained eye, in the dimly lit cave, there was nothing more to see than the walls sculpted by underground rivers and glacier melt...but with flashlights and laser pointers, and the trained eye of our guide, we began to see the outlines of the animals, scratched with flint on the walls--the line of a head, a back, legs....of horses, buffalo, even wooly mammoths, and occasionally a human being. Often they followed the concave or convex contours of the cave walls to give the drawings a more 3-dimensional appearace. Sometimes, the lines of one drawing would be incorporated into the lines of another--superimposed to create an entirely new image. Minerals were sometimes used to add color, blown through a hollow bone. It was interesting to note that although the sketches were not more than simple rudimentary outlines, in many of them, eyes were drawn with signficantly greater attention to detail...bringing to my mind the words of Jesus that the eye is the lamp of the soul. I wonder if these ancient humans had this sense as well.

The discovery and excavation of the many caves of the Dordogne yields a glimpse of the life that once existed and still lives beneath the surface, where there is much to learn and there are many un-answered questions. These caves appear not to have been used for living or protection. Why, then, were they used? What did the people do in these sanctuaries, deep in the ground? And what was being communicated through the drawings? Although our guides, with their trained eyes, were able to show us the drawings and help us see the contours of the animals represented, they did not attempt to explain or interpret or analyze or answer the questions evoked within these holy spaces.

"Imagination" and "curiosity" were words we heard a lot, in these caves. These are spaces that evoke awe and inspire appreciation for the creative life force that exists, even beneath the surface.

Blessings to all,

Cheryl

Chasing Wild Geese

On Monday, we picked up our rental car and departed from Nantes to drive to the Dordogne Region, an area known for caves full of fascinating rock formations and pre-historic drawings dating back as much as 20,000 years. This is also the area where the bones of 'Cro-Magnan' man were first discovered. It is a region of stunning natural beauty and home to many foie-gras farms that produce the goose liver pate for which France is well known. Thus, as we were headed to goose country, it seemed fitting to dub our journey here...a wild goose chase.

It started out well enough, as we carefully followed the MapQuest directions Jack generated (having converted the miles to kilometers first (bien sur). It took a while to figure out how the roads here are identified...and just about every intersection is a round-about, with other roads shooting out of the center like the spokes of a wheel.

And we learned, on this wild goose chase of ours, that nothing is open in France on Monday. With the baguette and peanut butter we brought long gone, we began looking for a cafe in one of the many towns we drove through. "Ferme" (closed) was the word of the day. Finally we stopped, believing that if we got out and walked through the side streets of a village, surely we'd find something. After more chasing of wild geese, we got back in the car and drove on, still hungry and thirsty. Relief came in a surprising form: an Irish pub, dropped in the midst of the French countryside, and the sign said, "Ouvert" (open). Entering, we were greeted in English and served a hot and hearty meal of Irish stew and fish & chips...fortification to forge on.

About half-way through the 8 hour drive, we discovered a problem with our directions...they stopped far short of our destination. It turns out there are two towns named Beynac in France. The one where we wanted to go has the fuller name Beynac et Cazenac...the one to which our directions led is simply Beynac. Fortunately, we had picked up a map from the rental car dealer and with the exception of a couple of moments when we were clueless enough that we had to stop and ask for help with directions, we figured it out.

Our wild goose chase brought us to the good that laid the golden egg as we drove, finally, into Beynac. The scenery all the way along the Dordogne River was spectacular and as we drew nearer our destination, we started spying the castles tucked into the hillsides. We knew that our hotel was called, "Hotel du Chateau," so we'd wonder, Is that our castle? and then, rounding a bend we saw it: the silhouette against a twilight sky of a magnificent medieval castle towering over the river valley. A monument to the day when fear of invading Norsemen led to the construction of fortresses designed to be impenetrable. Our hotel and the little town of Beynac, are nestled between the swiftly flowing and mud-swollen Dordogne and the castle cliffs. All of the buildings here are made of yellow sandstone with tile roofs, making for villages that are quaint and picturesque. After a day of chasing wild geese, we celebrated our safe arrival with dessert at the hotel cafe and a deep exhale of gratitude.

Our day of travel had its challenges, but also pleasant surprises....moments of difficulty and also moments of sheer delight. The Dordogne Region, we are discovering, is full of treasures just waiting to be discovered....for those who don't mind chasing wild geese, that is.

Blessings,

Cheryl

Lindsay's Stair-Master Tour of Paris

Well, we have wound down our time in Paris and we are now sitting in an internet cafe in Nantes. We'd love to know how many stairs we ascended and descended during our one week in Paris. It all began with the 52 stairs from the courtyard to our apartment. Add to that the running up and down...in and out of the Metro...all week long. We also climbed the steep ascent to Montmartre - where sidewalk artists sketch and paint - to the summit of its crowning jewel - the cathedral, Sacre Coeur. The panoramic view and full moon over Paris was worth every step. Mid-week, we joined the centuries of pilgrims who have walked the stone stairs of Mont St. Michel - seekers of a place to worship God under the protective watch of the gilded sword-wielding watch of Saint Michel.

We did not climb the stairs of the Eiffel Tower, and our late evening attempt to ascend the Arc de Triomphe was thwarted by our late arrival back to Paris and a complicated sequence of Metro hops that got us there just after it closed. The late night outing was redeemed by positioning ourselves at The Trocadero, where we saw the Eiffel Tower sparkle. Every hour, on the hour, the already illuminated tower dazzles with tiny white lights blinking in rapid, firefly sequence.

With our Museum Pass, we skipped through some long lines and traipsed up and down the stairs and passageways that led to the colorful impressionist works of Van Gogh, Degas, and Renoir at the Musee D'Orsay, the unforgettable water-lily masterpieces of Monet that fill two rooms of L'Orangerie, and the grand scale of the Louvre...where we gawked at the Mona Lisa, admired the statue of the Venus de Milo, and surveyed works of some of the Italian Renaissance masters. We joined some school kids (gamin) and tourists for a picnic lunch on the steps of the Musee D'Orsay, resting our very tired feet.

Somewhere in the midst of climbing yet another flight of stairs, we started referring to our Paris adventure as "Lindsay's Stair-Master Tour." Yet, all of the walking and climbing did not deter Jack from a run along the Seine, admittedly accomplished early in the week. Lindsay knows the city well enough that she guided us quite capably through the congestion that is typical in a city the size of Paris. And she only lost us once, when we all jumped onto a jam-packed metro, only to discover that Lindsay had entered a different car from Jack and I. We had not a clue where we were going and Lindsay had the only functioning cell phone among us, so we had a few moments of panic until the next Metro stop, when Lindsay hopped out of the car she had entered and popped onto the once we occupied, much to our immense relief. That was day one on the Metro. Needless to say, from that point on, we were more vigilant when stepping onto the train.

Although we all enjoyed the experience that is Paris, we were also ready to board one final set of stairs onto the train that carried us through the country-side to the much smaller and quite charming city of Nantes, Lindsay's home for the past 9 months. We have been greeted by typical Nantais weather...pouring rain...so we've done a bit of exploring and some resting. Tomorrow we'll go to Lindsay's church, where we will worship in a French-speaking congregation, and we'll experience the open-air market here in Nantes. Monday we depart for the Dordogne Region.

Blessings to all,

Cheryl

Eating In Paris

No, it’s not about gourmet foods served by tuxedo-clad waiters, but the daily adventure of purchasing fresh foods from local vendors and preparing simple meals from our apartment kitchen. Each morning, I am able to find, in the space of less than a city block, small stores: la boulangerie for our daily bread, la charcuterie for fresh meat, les fruits and les legumes (produce), and a small supermarche for delicious dairy products, like yogurt and cheese, not to mention la confiture – the jams that are amazing on French breads. There are also plenty of restaurants and cafes in our little neighborhood, called Le Marais, but we have chosen to take advantage of having a kitchen, for now. For the French, breakfast is bread and jam, with coffee. Lunch is more bread, with cheese, fruit and perhaps some yogurt. For our dinners, we especially enjoyed a roasted chicken, purchased at a fresh air market and cooked with new baby potatoes, and spaghetti, made with sauce containing locally produced spiced sausage. It is very satisfying and economically reasonable to purchase only the food that is needed for the day, wasting little and driving not at all, to bring food to the table. I am inspired to continue reflecting on how we might modify our shopping and eating habits, at home, to include more locally grown foods---less meat and more of the fresh fruits and veggies that will soon be in season in New York…

…Which is not to say that we have not also enjoyed some culinary delights prepared and served in restaurants. We took a break from our Paris immersion experience to travel to Mont St. Michel for an over-night. An impressive abbey built high on an island over the course of several hundred years, Mont St. Michel is, as they say, a place between the heavens and the earth. We stayed in a hotel inside the walls and climbed winding stone staircases to reach our room, tucked behind centuries-old stone walls---looking out at the belfry and down on the pigeons and gulls roosting at the apex of one of the many rooflines below. Here, at Le Mouton Blanc (The White Sheep), we enjoyed our first authentic French repast, featuring the cuisine of the Normany region. Jack’s seafood plate first-course contained species, the likes of which we had never before seen, complete with special tools to dig out the delicacies. I dined on rack of lamb, prepared according to local custom, and a salad with goat cheese. Desserts of crème brulee and profiteroles (ice cream filled puffs drizzled with chocolate and crowned with fresh whipped cream) finished the meal. Did we mention that we are eating well?

Mont St. Michel was a welcome respite from the congestion of Paris. It is awe-inspiring to reflect on the persistence, courage, and faith of those who built this impressive abbey. They gave hours of labor for the sake of a project, the completion of which they would never see. The imagination, ingenuity, and engineering acumen that were required are quite impressive. It is built over-looking the English channel and affords a vista that is truly soul-stirring. Our overnight visit allowed us to experience the setting in the evening tranquility, to see the Mont illumined against the night sky, and to spend a leisurely day exploring the edifice and grounds.

By now, we have returned to Paris, and tomorrow (Friday) we will travel, by train to Nantes. We are grateful for Lindsay, our tour guide….more about that in our next posting. As I bring this post to a close, I would be remiss if I did not mention one more Parisian culinary delight. Yes, we found the best ice cream in town, courtesy of a recommendation from Peter and Andrea, who discovered the place in their visit earlier this spring. Believe it or not, ice cream with liqueur-soaked prunes is not to be missed.

Blessings to all,

Cheryl

Pilgrimage

"Bless the Lord, my soul, and bless God's holy name. Bless the Lord my soul, who leads me into life."

Imagine singing these simple words, set to a beautiful melody, over and over again...Imagine singing them in a darkened candle-lit church adorned with the bright reds and oranges of Pentecost...Imagine yourself engulfed in a sea of humanity--2,000 souls from all over the world, singing and speaking a common prayer...sitting in silence and listening to readings from Scripture...Imagine singing in English or Latin, or perhaps German or French, and in the singing...imagine losing yourself and finding God's love.

This is worship at Taize. After the long, but blessedly uneventful journey, I was grateful to arrive. Life at Taize is built around worship, 3 times a day. When the carillon of bells rang, we all converged upon the church. We stopped whatever we were doing, morning, noon, and night...to remember who we are and to see God's peace for our lives and for our world.

Taize is set in the idyllic French countryside, surrounded by rolling green hills, the songs of birds, and even the distant lowing of cattle. In this setting, a community of brothers have chosen to seek peace and reconciliation for our world through a life of simplicity, poverty, and prayer. The community they have formed also welcomes guests, a week at a time, all year long. Many of them (the majority of them) are Sr. High youth and young adults, who have made a pilgrimage to Taize from their homes and churches. German schools have been on holiday this week, so there has been a strong German presence here.

Around worship, our day includes meals, chores (I help wash the dishes after lunch) Bible Study led by one of the Taize brothers and small group discussions with other guests. There is also time for walking, reading, and resting. The rhythm of life in this place is good for the soul...in work and worship, solitude and community, song and silence, Scripture and conversation, a sense of wonder and praise is awakened, the soul is filled with gratitude and love, and the heart is opened to receive God's good gifts. It has been an amazing experience, and I was sorry to leave.

However…today was the day to travel to Paris. Lindsay and I both boarded trains this morning and made a successful rendez-vous at the train station in Paris. After a short ride on the metro, we moved into the apartment that will be home for the week. It is a charming place in a neighborhood that has a lot of historic character. Jack flies over tonight and we will retrieve him from the airport in the morning. We have already visited the local markets to fill our kitchen with fresh food and we are soon ready for bed.

My French is coming back...and I am loving the immersion in all things French!

Blessings,

Cheryl

Blending In?!

For a little pre-travel fun and inspiration, I returned to an essay, written by Barbara Kingsolver, entitled, “Going to Japan.” In the essay, Barbara writes about her intention to learn about Japanese culture, prior to traveling there, so as to be able to ‘blend in.’ She didn’t want to commit any cultural faux-pas. She didn’t want to come across as the Ugly American.

In spite of her careful attempts to prepare, she found ‘blending in’ impossible. There were too many unknown and unwritten cultural rules. Her cultural faux-pas were many. And yet, where she was mortified, the Japanese were exceedingly forgiving.

So, I wonder if it’s not about blending in, after all. If you can’t prepare for cultural differences, you might as well accept them. I wonder what that will mean for us, in France? I am accustomed to smiling and making eye contact with strangers…not so typical, in France. I am able to use the language, at least to a limited extent….yet sometimes, I am told, it is preferable to use English than to attempt French that is less than adequate. My clothing, especially at this time of the year, features bright colors…yet Lindsay describes French wardrobes as mostly color-less. I believe I, too, can forget about blending in.

At home, my congregation will welcome a new pastor, for the Sabbatical season. What unknown and unwritten rules of the congregation’s culture will be revealed? What cultural differences will be expressed?

Accepting cultural differences, it seems to me, begins with the awareness that they exist.
To deny them or seek to gloss over them with the veneer of our common humanity can be a form of disrespect. To affirm that our common humanity is displayed through many languages, is reflected in a broad range of customs, and is conditioned by our life experiences is the beginning of learning who we are. Better to approach with awareness of self and curiosity toward others. With a ‘beginner’s mind,’ who knows what surprises may lie ahead?!

Blessings,

Cheryl

Entering...

A couple of years ago, I began walking the spiral path of the labyrinth. Alone and with others, I found on that path: gratitude, a deepening sense of connection with God, and a growing awareness of how I might live, with mindfulness and intention, toward God and toward the others I encounter on the path - of the labyrinth, and of life.

For many years, I have also written on the pages of a spiral notebook. Like the labyrinth, my spiral-bound journals have held my reflections about life while also giving me a fresh and daily awareness that the contours and content of my life are being held and shaped by God.

Now, I am about to enter yet another spiral path. For the next four months, I will enter a Sabbatical Season: a time away and apart from the relationships and responsibilities of my work, as a pastor... a time to move toward and into the relationships and experiences of family and friends, of leisure and travel, of encountering strangers and becoming re-acquainted with the stranger within...a time to search out experiences that will bring joy and delight...a time to experiment and explore, to remember and to be renewed, in body, mind and spirit.

The spiral path of my Sabbatical will begin on the evening of Pentecost, when I will board a plane in Toronto and be carried to Paris, France. From there I will travel, by train, to Taize, entering into the prayers and practices of this ecumenical community for a trinity of days. My soul awakened and nourished, I will travel back to Paris, to connect with Lindsay, who is finishing up her study-abroad experience in Nantes, and with Jack, who will fly over to meet us. From there, we’ve planned a month, to explore the sights, sounds, fragrances, tastes and textures of France.

Entering the season of Sabbatical seems as fitting a time as any to enter the sphere of blogging, as well. Led and inspired by my intrepid daughter, who has kept us informed, amused, and delighted by posting to her blog, many of her experiences, in words and pictures, I will begin this practice….and see what happens. thespiralnotebook is intended to be a place of reflection and hospitality, among family, friends, church members, colleagues, and strangers.

May you be blessed,

Cheryl