Image: Melanie Kyer

How does Lent work in Australia

When the days are getting dark?

When the promise of new life

Is still seasons away?

How does Lent provide its promise

For the unjustly detained

Who sit wondering if Jesus

Died to set them free, too?

How does Lent make sense to mourners

With nothing more to give up?

For whom Easter joy and rebirth

Is purely theoretical?

It’s easy to see hope in tulips

To have faith in greening buds

To endure the momentary dark

Secure that it’s only 40 days.

But even when the tulips fail to bloom,

And news brings only never ending dread.

The call to us is clear: Believe! Persist!

His day will come. Light always follows dark.

Melanie Kyer

March 2025

Image: Barbara Ryther

Adventures in Weaving

I have recently begun teaching myself to weave.

I had hoped it would be a meditative process – the soothing repetition of gently guiding yarn over and under the warp threads on a loom, the concentration of trying more complicated patterns, the creative glow of experimenting with different materials.  The ultimate meditative practice of emptying your head of everyday thoughts and being in the present.  A suitable journey for Lent.

It. Is. Not. Going. Well.

Granted, any creative process can involve a certain amount of chaos, in the best sense of discovering the unexpected.  And of course learning anything takes time and mistakes before you can even begin to consider that you might possibly know what you are doing.

But this experience has been less a creative artisan at work and more a fretful toddler who stubbornly insists that she DOES NOT NEED A NAP!

The chaos that climbed from the world into my head has fractured my already fleeting attention span, and my thoughts whiplash so rapidly that I choose and abandon my assortment of materials before they even begin to form a pattern.

The tension that moved from my head to my shoulders crawls down to my hands, making them tense and twitchy.  Warp threads cringe at my touch, abandoning their orderly vertical alignment and tightening into a stranglehold on the weft.

This is the opposite of meditation.  It’s more like possession.  Rather than clearing my mind it is exposing it for the swirling repository of worry and anxiety that it has become.

And yet, I have hope.  Hope and – dare I say it? – patience.  Perhaps it’s good to expose what is possessing me, to see it in all its three dimensional messiness, to bring it into the light.  To name it for what it is, or rather what it isn’t.  It isn’t me.  It’s something I have let live in my head and affect the rest of my body.  I can’t do calm in the midst of chaos, so one of them has to go.  The chaos can no longer be given that much space in my head or my life.

So I’m trying to let it go, one twitchy thread at a time.  Slowly but surely I will make space for calm.  I will re-warp my loom.  I will pick up one type of weft material at a time, and feel it in my hands as I gently weave it over and under the warp threads, letting the warp and weft gently mesh until they create something more than either of them alone.  Something I can’t see yet, even in my mind, but something that will be new and unique.  And me. 

-Barbara Ryther

Image: Nina Bisognani

Soup for the Soul

During the winter months

Images of steamy soups fill my mind.

A lovingly prepared hot soup brings warmth to cold, stormy days

And cheer to simple meals shared with others. 

Beef stew was a favorite during my childhood.

But there is nothing that warms my heart

Like my husband’s homemade chicken soup.

Made every fall and kept in the freezer in small batches;

We heat it up it for dinner throughout the winter, 

Whenever colds and flu threaten our health.

I believe it has healing power.

The healing power of warm soup in winter 

Reminds me of an even greater source of strength

That can help us through the difficult times we face

In our world today, as well as troubles in our personal lives.

It is the spiritual soup that fills our souls when we pray together. 

In spiritual soup, music is a main ingredient. 

We sing songs of thankfulness and praise.

One hymn, composed by Christian songwriter Lanny Wolfe in 1977

Was inspired by Matthew, 18:20, “Where two or three are gathered

together in my name, there I am in their midst.”

The well-loved song, “Surely the Presence of the Lord” (is in this place),

Is sung by the entire congregation in a church I often attend during winter months.

Like a warm soup, it lifts our hearts and sustains us through the days to come.

Perhaps we could create our own spiritual soups in these dark times, when our

Inner selves most need nourishment. Lift our voices to God in song. Spiritual soup has 

Healing power.

-Nina Bisognani

Come to the Table

Dear One,

Every day since the inauguration has brought distressing news: illegal firings, humanitarian aid withheld, trade wars with allies issued, family separations unleashed, Treasury Department data handed to private citizens, DEI protections cancelled…

It’s exhausting. Breathe.

You will feel all the things. Grieve the losses—it’s what steels your compassion. Take the time to hold the shards of every precious thing in your heart after your country has crushed it beneath its heel. Even the memory of what is beautiful is spiritual fire.

Do something with your inevitable rage. Every day, if necessary. Pound the treadmill, take up kickboxing, recruit a friend willing to dip beneath the frigid sea with you to reset your control panel. You are angry because you believe in goodness, and it’s painful to witness the unleashing of cruelty. Anger needs an outlet, or it will consume you. Take time to Let.It.Go. When the anger returns, let it go again. 

Find peace in nature. Walk into the woods and lean against the trunk of a great oak; feel its unmovable strength against your back. Listen to the gentle lapping of water; trace the smoothness of a river rock in your palm. Notice the insuppressible joy of songbirds. Consider moon wisdom. Let balsam fill your lungs.

Pray often. Perhaps with words. Or let your body be a prayer: hold the hand of one who suffers, lend your ear to the unheard, and let your gaze rest on those who have become invisible so that they become seen. Prayer is often action. Also, sometimes prayer is listening. Practice both.

Find ways to be a helper. You know, that whole Mr. Rogers thing. Be the good you so desperately want in the world. Each of us has the ability to impact those we come in contact with. When you can, widen your impact. Find organizations that do good work and support them with your time or resources. Call your representatives to let them know where you stand. When there is opportunity to elect officials with dignity, support them. Consider working locally to help good people become community leaders.

Don’t let resentment become a thing. Maintain healthy relationships, and release the ones that cause you harm. We cannot convince others of what is honorable. Each of us is defined by the beliefs we live out in our daily lives. Do not concern yourself with someone else’s progress. Use your energy wisely.

Surround yourself with good friends. Rest often. Find a creative outlet. Actively nurture your wellbeing. 

There are still lights in this darkness. You are one of them. 

You will feel all the things. Don’t give up.

Image: Melanie Kyer

Rebel in the Manger

My mother did a lot of ceramic painting in the 1970s, the most extensive of which was our treasured nativity set, complete with nearly two dozen pieces including camels and even goats. I was allowed to carefully unwrap them in December and place them meticulously in a tableau on the bay window. It wasn’t until many years later that I learned there were “rules”: the baby Jesus must not go in the manger until Christmas and the wise men should under no circumstances appear until Epiphany.

Perhaps my mother was unaware of “the rules” or perhaps she just didn’t want to trust that setting the figures aside wouldn’t end up in their being broken. But here’s my hot take: display the whole story at once if you want to. The only “manger police” are self-appointed. In a world where we retell the Christmas story year after sacred year, Jesus is at once born and yet-to-be-born at the same time. The Magi have been and gone and will come again. The two sheep in my nativity scene are just placeholders, both for the sheep that may have been at the birth and the sheep who are…us.  It is only common Western custom that there are three wise men anyway– Eastern Christianity numbers them at twelve.

Taken as a set, the scene allows us to look with new eyes on it every time we see it. Maybe the weary eyes of the camel shine under the Christmas lights and tell their story when I need to hear it, even if that’s not on January 6th.

My mother’s nativity set now has pride of place in my home and continues to represent not only the nativity story in all its aspects, but the years of care she put into painting them and the tradition of placing them every year which engraved that story on my heart.

May the story continue to live in you this Epiphany and always

Photo by : Barbara Ryther 

Witness

As I approach the entrance to my favorite walking beach, I notice something new – a small evergreen tree planted firmly in the sand, with what looks like Christmas decorations.  Drawing closer I see that the tree is crowned by a lobster claw, and hanging from its branches are garlands of seaweed, curled strips of birch bark, fragments of driftwood… and dog toys.  

A large tag flutters in the stiff breeze coming off the breaking surf.  It reads “Gratitude and Remembrance Tree” and encourages passers by to add something to the tree to remember loved ones.  Whatever the original intent, the tree has become a memorial to dogs – presumably dogs that once spent joyous time on this beach.

This time of year dogs sometimes outnumber people here.  I love watching them and their individual reactions to both the beach and the ocean.  There are the ones who love nothing more than being in the water, no matter how cold it gets.  I watched someone once stand by the edge of the breaking waves for 20 minutes, throwing a ball over and over again into the surf as a large dog hurled himself headlong into the water to retrieve it over and over again.  A great contrast to a dog I once introduced to the ocean at that very spot, and watched him trot curiously toward the edge of an outgoing wave, only to retreat frantically as the edge of the water turned and swirled back toward him.

I have seen dogs demanding to be carried after only a few steps on the sand, and others who seemed to be shot out of canons the minute they were let off their leashes.  Other dogs will spend their time carefully sniffing out every small little pile of seaweed, or rolling luxuriously in them.  One winter day I watched a dog gleefully roll down the steep, snow covered lawn of one of the beach houses, only to gallup back up and do it again. And again. And again. Some dogs are too caught up in beachy things to pay attention to strangers, while others have seemingly developed a knack for spotting me as someone who is almost sure to be able to find just the right spot on their back or behind their ear to scratch

I don’t have any dog toys to put on the remembrance tree, so I search out a lacy bit of seaweed to gently tuck it into the branches.  I look at the pictures of dogs who have passed away this year, and imagine the dogs that once loved the toys that are hanging there.  Although none of these dogs were mine, I am grateful to remember them, and their witness to joy.

My wish is that we may all be witnesses to joy in whatever way we can this Christmas and in the coming year.

Barbara Ryther

Image: Melanie Kyer

Memories of Christmas

Each year during Advent, many homes and businesses in York begin preparing for Christmas, the most celebrated holiday of the year. The Christmas tree, which spiritually represents the birth of Baby Jesus, is carefully decorated as a symbol of our anticipation of His coming. 

When I was a child, my father cut an evergreen from the woods behind our house during the second week of December. He fit the tree in a sturdy stand and arranged a long string of multi-colored light bulbs around her branches. My three sisters and I loaded the tree with tinsel.

Our mother added gold braid and ornaments her own parents saved from earlier times.

In the weeks before Christmas, we made new ornaments from styrofoam balls, pipe cleaners,pieces of felt, and paper cut-outs we collected throughout the year. The ornaments represented special qualities such as peace, love and joy. To create the appearance of snow on our tree we gathered pine cones, painted their scales white and placed them on the tree with wire hangers. It was our way of sharing the value of nature at this special time.

On Christmas Eve my family and I attended Midnight Mass at Saint George’s Episcopal Church in York Harbor.. My three sisters and I sang in the choir. The church was lovely; adorned with rich red poinsettias and fresh balsam wreaths. During one of the darkest days of the year, the beauty filled our hearts with light.

We prayed together and gave thanks as we sang “Silent Night” by candlelight. The magic of Christmas had begun..

Nina Bisognani

Image: Kathryn Yingst

November

gray and moody

with its dusty shadows

like a crypt

opening

At least

that is my sentiment

at 5:35

when I am mercilessly awakened

by the alarm

Morning is heavy

on my back

as it bends

beneath the weight

of dreams interrupted

What happens now?

And by that

I mean

to the beauty—

to the tendrils of grace

and the soft hues

of compassion

On the table

my Schlumbergera

stretches her fuchsia blooms

the ones that appear

precisely

when all else goes dormant

Her blatant tenderness

ever defiant

Kathryn Yingst

CHOOSE JOY

2024 has not been an easy year for me. Among other things I wound up in Northeast Rehab for 10 days after I fell in April. I was doing something stupid, but then isn’t that why most falls happen?

A month later I celebrated my 77th birthday, which also fell on Mother’s Day this year. I had high hopes that it would be the day I could celebrate a return to better health. While that may have been true it was also a day marred by a truly ridiculous argument between two of my children that left me in tears for much of the afternoon.

I could have found myself sinking into a depression. Instead, about 10 days later I woke up truly happy for the first time in months and with the words choose joy my awakening thought. In choosing joy, I was able to reach my goal of going to Denmark in September to visit “My Danes.”

 Once home, I was inspired by a beloved cousin and a friend to do something I’ve never done before: volunteer to work on a presidential campaign. My contribution was small, but it filled me with hope and joy. Today, I am still choosing joy.

But mostly I am choosing to remember words Father Ryan said at the very end of his sermon last week, Nov 3rd . It went something like this: “Trust that next Sunday we will be here as a community.”

Not just a congregation, but a community. And that’s a really good reason to choose joy.

Barbara Kautz

Nov 7, 2024

Images: Melanie Kyer

The Long Goodbye

My mother has Alzheimer’s disease. Actually, we aren’t completely sure that it is Alzheimer’s, although her doctor has said that’s the most likely culprit for her memory loss, but I just hate the word dementia. I don’t want to think of my mother as “demented”– it is so much easier to just blame “a disease.”

What it comes down to, however, is that I lost part of my mother a long time ago. She is still in there, she still says she loves me, and she still has that beautiful smile, but the part I can ask for advice, share accomplishments with and reminisce with about childhood memories is gone. It’s not fair, and it sometimes makes me angry. I’m angry at our healthcare system, and at a God who would make the last years of life for such a wonderful woman so needlessly hollow. 

As is my way, however, I do try to find the bright sides:  we have her living closer to us so I spend a lot more time with her. When she was in a less restrictive facility, I would spend time almost every week playing the piano for residents and enjoy seeing how proud she was of me. At her facility now, I play the ukulele and sing hymns and songs for her when I visit. She is less and less aware, but I know part of her hears me. 

Music does that. 

I’m also taking the time to go through old photos and scan them for the family. I show her the highlights. Some she recognizes, like the time I showed her a photo of my dad and she smiled and said “I like that guy.” They remind me of all the wonderful things she did – not only raising great children, but traveling around the world, making dozens of pies for suppers at her church, knitting us mittens every year, and organizing choral concerts at the town museum. 

She may not remember, but I can remember for both of us. 

It can be hard to find God in this long goodbye, but the word “goodbye” itself actually means “God be with you.”  Every time I pray with my mom, I ask God to be with us both. And I know that prayer is answered.

“For the beauty and wonder of your creation, in earth, sky and sea,

Over the past several weeks, the Reflections group asked us to reflect on the blessings of summer and send in pictures that show what in creation has brought us joy this summer.

We are happy to share the results!

The photographers are: 
Jane Goldstein & her grandchildren, Jeff Hart, Karen Cashen,
Rev. Judith Turberg, Joyce Parent, Melanie Kyer, Barbara Ryther

Image: Barbara Ryther

Thoughts from the beach: Invisible Lives

2024

It feels like forever

we’ve been caught

in this political strife

this American life

cutting words

cutting friendships

sacrificing ourselves

so we don’t lose family

losing family

so we don’t bury ourselves.

There is no winning.

It’s a game of numbers

taking hits

exponentially

trying not to let sentimentality

take us out

because things are not the same

anymore

we are not who we once were

before

everything became a culture war.

People say they have the answers

but are there answers

to an equation without equality?

The numbers don’t add up.

Up is down

and down is up—

Has the stock market become our pulse?

Words have just become words

and we fight the urge

to look one another in the eye

because what if the truth

is more than we can bear?

What if we have to say goodbye?

We make the plays

and count the goals

so we’re not counted out

but it feels like

trying to breathe

air that’s too thick

wondering who has our back

looking for fresh teammates

and knowing

none of this is a game.

Kathryn Yingst
08.01.24

Image: Nina Bisognani

Peace in a time of chaos

The dog days of summer are here, sultry and sticky. By ten AM there
is no parking at the beach. On dangerously hot afternoons, we keep our children and pets inside. 

Outside, the humidity is exhausting our bodies and stifling our minds. Inside, our frustrations mount as we watch more TV and listen to disparaging comments about frightening events in our chaotic world.

That we are linked to the rhythms of the earth is a saving grace for our summer survival. When the sun goes down, the earth cools, making it more comfortable to spend time outside. 

Birds who are active during the day pay a final visit to the feeder before nestling in tree branches and other safe places for the night. Weather permitting, we go for walks, weed our gardens, play ball, sit on porches, or simply enjoy watching the deepening sky. 

The time has come when our minds can begin to heal overnight from the wounds of the day. With God’s help, this is a time when we can find peace in a world of chaos. 

At four A.M. on a lake in upstate Maine, the air is perfectly still. The water is as smooth as glass.  My mind is finally at ease. I thank God for that quiet time when I am alone with the earth at rest.

Nina Bisognani

Image: Melanie Kyer

To-Do ListSummer 2024 To-Do List

Organize the fridge and closets:

Donate, simplify.

But don’t forget to throw out grudges, prejudice and hate.

Plant seeds and tend the garden:

Water, watch it grow.

But don’t forget to tend relationships: a friend needs you.

Learn something new and practice!

Music, language or a skill:

But don’t forget to practice mercy and forgiveness.

Get out and move, be active!

Stretch when you would rather sleep.

But don’t forget that sleep’s important, too.

Overcome a fear, have faith:

Find strength in God!

But don’t forget to let God challenge you

with your next fear.

Melanie Kyer

June 2024

Image: Melanie Kyer

Vespers

Evening light washes the glare from the day

As the sharp edge between air and substance fades

And shadows roll in as silently as the tide.

The last ray of sun to clear the trees

Ripples with the current of the river

Until they are both stilled.

Rustling leaves hush to a gentle whisper

Becoming a soft, murmuring background

To a cardinal’s soaring song of praise.

The cooling air sends warm columns aloft

The scent of flowers rising with them

Like a fragrant offering.

The sun sets

And another day sighs deeply

As it gives way to another night.

Barbara Ryther

Image: Melanie Kyer

Everyday Hope

What does it mean to have hope? Is it good or is it bad? Do I hope to win Powerball? And what if I do? What would I do with 10, 20, 50 million dollars? It won’t happen because I rarely buy tickets! What if my hope hurts someone else? I hope my political candidate wins and not the other guy, from school committee to President. Surely someone will be hurt. But when and how?

I’ve been thinking a lot about hope lately because my life seems to have been filled with all sorts of impediments to what I thought this year would bring me. The catalog includes pinching a nerve in my back, getting shingles on the pinched nerve, which in turn weakened my left leg, which caused me to cancel trips to Florida, a writers’ workshop at Acadia National Park, singing in Salzburg, Austria, and Atlanta.

I prayed for a way to strengthen my leg and I got it: I fell and cracked a bone in my pelvis, which in turn led me to spend 10 days in a rehab hospital. Now a rehab hospital has to insist you get three hours of rehabilitation a day, or they can’t keep you! So, I came home just in time to see my granddaughter in her prom gown, and discover that both my legs were stronger than when I went into the hospital.

Now I am not foolish enough to believe that God led me to fall to remind me I really wasn’t getting enough exercise to increase my leg strength or offer me a new pathway toward hope. And yet, the first time I could lift my shingled leg one inch off the floor from a seated marching position I felt hopeful.  I wrote my beloved sister/friend in Denmark to tell her I was able to walk about 150 feet from one end of the back of our house to the other day on a disgustingly rainy day. She wrote back, “I am not impressed with how far you can walk.” My reply was, “Be impressed. The first day of rehab I walked 10 feet.”

I started thinking of other signs of hope around me, simple things. My daughters preparing brunch for Mother’s Day, because they had complete hope I would still be alive to eat it. Hearing lawnmowers in neighbors’ yards because they have hope the grass will continue to grow and need to be cut again. The sound of a Life Flight helicopter overhead because the people at York Hospital’s Emergency Department have hope their desperately ill patient will survive a trip to Maine Medical Center.

In his new book Doom published May 14th pastor and activist Brian McLaren writes that hope is nothing unless it is accompanied by action, by the work necessary to accomplish one’s goal. I think gardeners have that one figured out. They plant seeds with the certainty they will have a bumper crop of zucchini. I’m still working on it. So, if you happen to drive down my street some sunny morning around 11 AM you might see me pushing a red rollator toward Route 1.

Barbara Kautz

May 2024

Image: Barbara Ryther

Point of View

To a photographer ‘point of view’ can be a simple concept – it literally means the point from which you are viewing whatever you’re photographing.

It’s frequently tempting to go with the first point of view you stumble upon. After all, something about the view made you stop and consider taking a picture. But experience eventually teaches you that by looking at the view from other points you may in fact get a better picture.

A lot can be seen about even the simplest photographic subject simply by walking all the way around it. Maybe the sun hits it at a different angle, or the background changes, or more details are revealed. The delicate veins of dogwood blossoms may come into view, for example, or the architecture of the tree branch.

Not all points of view will be equally photographic, or will resonate with you, or will serve the subject well, but you’ll never know unless you try.

Here endeth the photography lesson.

Try it the next time you take a picture. Or in any other activity of your life.

Barbara Ryther

Photo by: Kathryn Yingst