Chapel Talk by Chaplain Cam Hardy
If I were told when I was 14 that I would end up living the bulk of my adult life in the middle of nowhere with nothing but cow and horse pastures in sight, I would have thought, what a nightmare. I was a suburbs kid. I ran with a posse of neighborhood friends playing spud and Ollie Ollie oxen free. I graduated from Brownies and made it through my first year of Girl Scouts so that I could experience the joy selling cookies door to door, …My mom drove me all over the state for my travel swim team. She refused to let me have Barbies, which now I thank her for, so my friends and I played with little Kiddles—creating villages and families and decorating their little homes,— I was a cheerleader, my favorite TV shows included Lost In Space and Bewitched. I grew up in the shadow of New York City—that’s where I thought I was destined—that’s where all the excitement and adventure and mystery and coolness was—and still is, don’t get me wrong. But to say at the time that I would end up in the rolling hills of some county I had never even heard of ? Nope…
I am glad that I can say at this point in my life that I have absolutely no regrets. I have no doubt that this is where I was supposed to end up, and that it is still a great adventure. It is the place where excitement and mystery has and continues to happen, day in and day out, season after season, year after year.
And actually, looking back on my childhood, I can identify some clues that I was headed in this unlikely direction.
- I took my Kiddles outside. I even risked my sister getting mad at me for getting them dirty, but I wanted them to be outside— Maybe I was trying to get away from my annoying little brother, maybe I wanted my own space, but the Kiddles needed theirs.. I found this little knoll of ivy that was tucked away behind a grove of lilac trees, and throughout the year I would take the Kiddles on field trips, in different seasons, to this spot in the side yard and they would set up camp in the great outdoors, and wander around in the ivy and at the base of the lilacs which to them were giant sequoias…— I think about how absurd that must have been to my mom, looking out at me from the kitchen window, while I thought was completely hidden away and in a different world.--) …I felt a sense of urgency about being out there and of their being out there—life would not be life for them if they didn’t really get to know the world…
- I stopped swimming competitively, sorry, Mrs. Allen--because I felt confined by the pool. I love swimming. I just didn’t want to spend so many hours of my life doing laps in a concrete rectangle. Maybe I also wanted a social life and my hair was turning green. But the overriding feeling in that activity was confinement and a lack of surprise.
- I started a life log of birds, and in the summers opted for time with my grandmother on her porch with her binoculars spotting thrushes and purple martins rather than trolling the beach for new friends and for star fish.
- The poster of Macchu Picchu that hung on my Spanish classroom wall drove me to distraction…I was obsessed with that view and dreamed for years about going to that place high up in those forest covered mountain tops with those impossible steppes carved out of the rock and soil and underbrush. I actually did end up applying to go to the University of Lima my junior year if college, but Peru became in such a state of violent political upheaval that year that I had to change plans and go to Spain… But the allure of that mountain remained so strong…
These clues and experiences all happened about the time that I started challenging myself about my beliefs and values—what does life mean—teenage angsty kind of challenges. I wanted to push back against authority, at the same time I wanted to do things well and right and achieve and be successful in my parents’ eyes. And there was a lot of crazy stuff going on in the world then that didn’t make a whole lot of sense to me—the Vietnam war, the Kennedys and Dr. Martin Luther King’s assassinations, the energy crisis. I was bumping up against the idea that there’s got to be something bigger and more powerful out there, more consistent, more objective than the humans in charge here. and I wanted some answers.
I was fortunate to grow up in a place that yes, was the ‘burbs, but there were several wooded nature preserves with trails in my town. I was fortunate that my dad really loved being outside and would take us on regular walks in the woods on Sundays. We didn’t have any agenda-just walked.
That’s where I found it—not answers necessarily, but experience that put me at peace, and gave me some perspective, in a context away for my brother’s annoyances, away from the expectations my parents, with all good intentions voiced to my sister and brother, and I; away from the sadness and bewilderment of a nation that was lost and fumbling to find its identity. I found a sense of balance in walking past the moss-covered rocks and maple and oaks that I had walked past so many times before, I found a sense of place and of identity as I identified a cardinal and an evening gross beak. My angst and low level fears drifted away, as I stood still and listened to the wind rustling the canopy of tree tops, a sense of freedom as my brother and I scrambled up a boulder to catch the best view of the marshes down below.
Just over 18 years ago, in mid-July, Ms. Havard and I went for a walk. She was feeling restless and antsy –her first baby was due in a few weeks. She had done enough gardening, and reading and putzing for the day and just needed to get out. So she called me up and we took to the trails on ski hill and walked and walked and walked, and got lost--no surprise, if you know the two of us. But we talked about all sorts of things, whatever came to mind, and we didn’t talk for a while but listened to chorus of the locusts and the quiet thud of deer jumping over logs….and we looked. Within a few days or maybe even the very next day she and Mr. Feitelson drove to Northern Dutchess hospital, and in the nick of time their son Jonah was born. Whether the walk sped up the birth process or not, I have to believe that Ms. Havard’s urge to go walking and the experience of doing it gave her some preparation for this big wonderful event in her life; it gave her some sense of perspective.
Three weeks ago hurricane Irene paid us a visit. We were fortunate: we didn’t lose power until after the storm, the wind was not devastatingly strong. We just had a lot of rain. The Sunday of the storm, about midmorning we were greeted by Ben and Emma, and later Zack, three very soggy neighbors, in shorts and T shirts. They invited our daughter Lena to join them in investigating the culverts and creeks along the road—and to dive into the lake that formed in front of our house. Of course they all went out and dove and splashed around and hovered on the edge of the whitewater of the overflowing creeks with the wind still blowing and the rain still steadily pelting us. We joined them, just because it was so cool and maybe to be sure they wouldn’t do anything impulsive and unsafe…This was our reaction to this event—dive in, explore, check it out.
Three days ago I went on a morning run. I reached the wetlands and the stalks of loosestrife and the branches of low lying bushes were covered in fully formed spider webs each covered in dew drops. Amazing. As I got the top of school road I looked to my right and there the moon was rising through the mist and layers of colored light, pinks and lavender and blue. To my left the sun was rising over the dark green of Tamaracks and the lighter green of the soybean fields. Amazing. As I passed Mr. Clizbe I yelled to him to look around when he got to the top.
Two days ago I was on a run and thinking about how I was going to gather the courage to have a difficult conversation with my dad, and I looked up over the pasture before ski hill and there was a thick, full rainbow hanging in the mist. I almost laughed in surprise at how absurdly beautiful this was.
I am from a faith tradition that shares beliefs with other faith traditions and human-made value systems that nature is good and that we are made to live peacefully and in harmony with all of creation—not just for the sake of ourselves.
The House of Bishops is a democratic body of the Anglican Episcopal church – the church which I serve, that gathers for summits to discuss and take action on important issues in the world. The council met in Quito, Ecuador last week, and from the summit made this statement:
Science confirms what we already know: our human footprint is changing the face of the earth and because we come from the earth, it is changing us too. We are engaged in the process of destroying our very being. If we cannot live in harmony with the earth, we will not live in harmony with one another.” The mounting urgency of our environmental crisis challenges us to amend our lives and to work for environmental justice and for sustainable practices. [We] cannot be indifferent to global warming, natural resource depletion, species extinctions, and habitat destruction, all of which threaten life on our planet... This is the appointed time for all of us to work for the common goal of renewing the earth. We are called to speak and act on behalf of the good of all creation.
Science confirms what we already know: our human footprint is changing the face of the earth and because we come from the earth, it is changing us too. We are engaged in the process of destroying our very being. If we cannot live in harmony with the earth, we will not live in harmony with one another.” The mounting urgency of our environmental crisis challenges us to amend our lives and to work for environmental justice and for sustainable practices. [We] cannot be indifferent to global warming, natural resource depletion, species extinctions, and habitat destruction, all of which threaten life on our planet... This is the appointed time for all of us to work for the common goal of renewing the earth. We are called to speak and act on behalf of the good of all creation.
Tall order—strident.. and with appropriate urgency and challenge. When I hear this and read it I feel frustrated, maybe a little daunted, as much as I am inspired, just as I did when I was a teen of the seventies caught up in the crises of the time, and wondering how I would find the authority, the sense of identity and the commitment to say something, to do something…
And maybe you feel that way too hearing these words, or maybe you feel challenged and yet still want to find some ballast, some resource to use to gather your wits, to believe yourself worthy of the challenge as Mr. Casertano put forth to you last week, worthy of the challenge to face this urgent concern—to face the challenge of changing the course of human and natural life…
My suggestion to all of us is that we listen to the clues that are within each of us; we’re made that way, listen to that push for us go to that resource, that place that offers the inspiration and ballast, the place that calls us to renew it and to be in it---where I never thought in a million years I’d end up living out my life—in the middle of nowhere.
I don’t begin to suggest that you stay here for twenty years. One, two, three, or four is best. But for this short time you are in a place that provides the substance of studies, the substance of beliefs. The wetlands, the hills, the woods and the creeks, give energy and truth to us. It’s here where I consistently conquer my fears, where I am surprised and awed, where I can play and explore, where freedom and peace and balance and excitement and creativity are found, time after time, day after day, year after year. It’s all there for me and for you. Go there and see what you find.
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