Growing up in East Tennessee, I helped take care of our raised-bed garden in the backyard. I learned about growing green beans and squash. I saw how tall sunflowers can grow. I learned to check for bugs before you cook broccoli for dinner. I loved that garden.
I never stopped loving the outdoors. I went to college in the foothills of the Great Smoky Mountains, hiking amongst the hundreds of miles of trails. I spent time walking along the greenbelt and walking along the Tennessee River. And then I moved to the heart of Downtown Knoxville. I was grateful to retreat to the
"Urban Wilderness"
just a few miles from where I lived; however, I lived in the middle of the concrete jungle. Where could I find a spiritual sanctuary outdoors?
One weekday, I was meeting with a mentor at a local coffee shop. We were discussing
"Life of the Beloved"
by Henri Nouwen, and I had my copy set out on the table. A local pastor walked up to us and began sharing how he read that book during seminary, as well. He shared about his ministry at the local Anglican Church and how his wife ran an urban farm in the area- Abbey Fields Farm. He wished us well, grabbed his coffee drink, and went on his way.
I spent a lot of time in coffee shops during this time in my life. I was single. I lived downtown and worked at two ministries within walking distance of my loft. My primary office at the time didn't have windows, so I loved exploring different spots around town to work remotely. I don't drink coffee, so I sometimes felt like an imposter- but, I grew thankful for all the herbal tea options I could find. The part that I really loved about coffee shops was getting to know other regulars and running into the same folks. One of these folks was the pastor at the local Anglican Church.
He invited me to sit with him, and we talked about life and ministry. He shared more about his wife's farm and offered to connect us to one another. I was thrilled at the thought, but a little skeptical. An urban farm? What does that even mean?
A few weeks later, I connected with this farmer. I arrived at the small lot about one mile outside of downtown. There was a huge abandoned building right next to the train track. This became my sanctuary for three years.
I planted tomatoes. I cut and bound together SO much rainbow chard. I spent hours trying to harvest potatoes. I learned what a sweet potato vine looked like. I saw the lessons that creation has to offer- and I learned more and more about the need for the land to rest. I continue to learn lessons from the earth, as I hope that we all do. I was reminded that a Sanctuary doesn't always look like a space within a parish.
Where do you find Sanctuary today?
I also learned what it was like to work with one another. I learned about Wendell Berry and fell in love with his writing. In his book
"What Are People For?"
I kept coming back to the passage under "Local Culture:"
"It is doing in a passive way what a human community must do actively and thoughtfully. A human community, too
must collect leaves and stories
, and turn them into account. It must build soil and build that memory of itself-- in lore and story and song-- that will be its culture. These two kinds of accumulation, of local soil and local culture, are intimately related."
What does it mean to be a human community?
What does it look like to collect leaves and stories?
How do we preserve memories?
We are working on a new series called
"Stories of St. Paul's."
I invite you to follow along each week as we share pieces of one person or family's stories. When we share our stories with one another, we are sharing precious pieces of ourselves. They are sacred, deserving of respect.
What story would you share for today?
I invite you to pray this prayer today. It is a song I grew up singing at summer camp called "Sanctuary:"
Lord, prepare me to be a sanctuary,
pure and holy, tried and true;
with thanksgiving, I’ll be a living
sanctuary for you.
Amen.
