God covers the heavens with clouds, prepares rain for the earth, makes grass grow on the hills. … God gives to the animals their food, and to the young ravens when they cry.
~ Psalm 147
Somewhere John Muir wrote “I only went out for a walk, and finally concluded to stay out till sundown, for going out, I found, was going in.” As I write, I’m just in from a trail run up to Mt. Oglethorpe on a day of cerulean blues skies and spring breezes. The view from Eagle Rock was lovely, and reminded me of an annual trail run with friends in Colorado, near the confluence of Rocky Mountain National Park and the Roosevelt/Comanche Wilderness Area. An alpine start and half day’s climb to Comanche Peak (12,700’) reveals the crenellated waves of mountains from Wyoming to the north, and the San Juan’s to the south and west. Last year, an unusually heavy snowpack remained well into July. Daily visitations from moose, deer, raven and peregrine falcons—and, based on tracks around the cabin, brown bear enlivened and blessed our sojourn here in the lovely Pingree Valley. And indeed, in going out, I found myself going in, both here in the lovely Southern Appalachians, and in the Colorado Rockies. But what might “going out and going in” mean? Why did Muir find such inward solace outdoors?
Each year for 30 years I have gathered in wilderness settings with friends from Vanderbilt, for trail running, hiking, fellowship and laughter. For the past 20 years we have gathered in the Pingree Valley, an artifact of glaciers following the uplift of the Rocky Mountains some sixty million years ago. Deep in a sub-alpine forest of spruce, fir, and aspen we are bathing in the pinenes, limonenes, and other aerosols emitted by trees, and believed to elevate NK cells, a type of white blood cell known to send self-destruct messages to tumors and virus-infected cells, and lower levels of cortisol and other stress-related hormones. We’ve known for a long time that factors like stress, aging, and pesticides can reduce our NK count, at least temporarily.[1] After an unusually busy winter and spring, I am grateful for this time away with my friends, including the trees!
In his book “The Three Day Effect” Richard Strayer from Arizona State studied the effect of time spent in nature on networks in the brain, especially the attention network. Strayer writes.
“So many things demand our attention: emails, deadlines, chores, grocery lists, elusive parking spots, and, as William Wordsworth put it, all the ‘getting and spending.’ ‘The world,’ wrote the poet ‘is too much with us.’”[2] When the attention network is freed up, other parts of the brain appear to take over, like those associated with sensory perception, empathy and productive day-dreaming.
And speaking of empathy, perhaps we can learn something from trees about being in community during what some are calling an “epidemic of polarization and loneliness.”[3] Trees live communally in ways we are only beginning to understand:
“Before it dies, a Douglas fir, half a millennium old, will send its storehouse of chemicals back down into its roots and out through its fungal partners, donating its riches to the community pool in a last will and testament…trees communicate, over the air and through their roots…trees take care of each other….seeds remember the seasons of their childhood and set buds accordingly. Trees sense the presence of other nearby life…learn to save water and feed their young and synchronize their masts and bank resources and warn kin and send out signals to wasps to come and save them from attacks. Forests wire themselves up underground. There are brains down there, ones our own brains aren’t shaped to see. Root plasticity, solving problems and making decisions. Fungal synapses. Link enough trees together, and a forest grows aware. ” (Richard Powers, The Overstory)
Our beloved Holy Family parish is, in many ways, like a deep and abiding forest. Community, like nature, as Muir suggests, has the power to heal, nurture and sustain us, and to remind us that we are not alone. We are reminded that whatever our burdens we are part of God’ beloved Creation, in Deep Time. As Mary Oliver says so well:
Around me the trees stir in their leaves
and call out, “Stay awhile.”
The light flows from their branches.
And they call again, “It’s simple,” they say,
“and you too have come
into the world to do this, to go easy, to be filled
with light, and to shine.”[4]
So consider finding a way to get outside this spring and summer, if only to sit or stroll in a local park, or perhaps to plant a tree. Of course, our own Holy Family campus is perfect for what Muir called a “saunter.” And consider, too, finding ways to reach into our parish community, and to co-create relationships in this sacred space, and be filled with light! We need volunteers for Eucharistic Ministry, Pastoral Care, Outreach, and other forms of service. In volunteering you may find that in reaching out, you are going in…deeper into your relationship with God, and in so doing, deeper awareness of your own spiritual journey. What we care for, we grow to resemble, and yes, by going out, we may find that we are going in.
I’ll catch you later on down the trail…and see you in church!
Eastertide blessings,
Bill
[1] https://www.outsideonline.com/1870381/take-two-hours-pine-forest-and-call-me-morning
[2] https://www.rei.com/blog/camp/the-nature-fix-the-three-day-effect
[3] https://www.hrsa.gov/enews/past-issues/2019/january-17/loneliness-epidemic
[4] Mary Oliver, When I am Among the Trees