Wednesday, June 27, 2012
With praise for English priest/poet Gerard Manley Hopkins, "The world is charged with the grandeur of God. It flames out...." or bursts forth in sweet dark fruit: June blackberries.
Before church today, Penny and I visited a nearby blackberry patch, its whereabouts our secret, and picked a big bowl of fruit. Let me clarify. She picked the berries; I mostly ate them.
Ahh, God is good. Imagine Hopkins's poem, "The Grandeur of God," if only the poet had enjoyed a handful of ripe blueberries.
Or perhaps he did early one Sunday morning and, moved by their sweetness and simple beauty, penned his delicious poem.
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
Grady shared in and supported Carol's journey through seminary, to ordination, and finally to Kansas City, MO, where the two of them made a good life together.
He served in several ministries at Grace and Holy Trinity Cathedral, volunteered at an animal shelter, drove a bus (an early ambition fulfilled), worked at the boys' camp of his youth in Minnesota, and did much more.
And Grady rode his Harley Davidson motorcycle.
Perhaps he had read Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, for he certainly lived the spirit of Robert Pirsig's classic on motorcyles, philosophy, and life.
Although I read the book in 1976, I still remember Pirsig's writing that he prefers riding his motorcycle to riding in an automobile. On his motorcycle, he feels the wind and rain on his face, but not when he's sealed off from the elements--and from life--by car windows.
How many of us put something between us and living? Not Grady.
When he lived and studied at the Church Divinity School of the Pacific, he used to ride his motorcycle around the Berkley Hills. He rode the way he lived his life--revved up and roaring ahead.
When my wife Penny and I first learned of Grady's illness, we prayed fervently for a miracle. His many friends surely did likewise.