GRAVITATIONAL PULL At the time I arrived at Tidewater Way in June of 2006, I immediately experienced a gravitational pull each morning. It worked this way. I would get out of bed, brush my teeth and pour my first cup of coffee. With little conscious effort, I was drawn to the couch on the front porch of our house. This screened-in porch sits above and overlooks the north branch of the John's River, a two-forked river which, before long, goes out to the Atlantic. On this couch I began my day with God in prayer, with the reading of scripture and other devotional readings. It is almost a year later and, as you can imagine, my morning practice shifted a bit as September became October and my flannel pajamas and hefty bathrobe outlived their usefulness. My perch shifted upstairs to Cousin Lucile's old Boston rocker just inside the dormer, still facing east with that wonderful morning sun. This morning as I sat in the rocker, I began to feel the gravtational pull once again. I realize something was missing from my prayers. What is it? Now, we are spending much more of our day outdoors. Yesterday I mulched the beds in front of the house and Peter and I were busy about the place getting things ready for the blessing of Tidewater Way on Saturday. As we did this, we absorbed the sounds around us. Beautiful sounds, buzzes and churps and that spray of serenity as the wind comes through the white pine. As I sat upstairs waking up in prayer in my study about an hour ago, some Canadian geese trumpeted across the land to the water and I realized how enclosed my prayer space has become. The gravitational pull wants to break through the walls and open the windows, no, it is pulling me out to that front porch to the couch in front of the river to begin my day there. One of the contradictions of Tidewater Way this time of year is that this place of silence is also a place of very unique sound. Loud sound. For a trained ear that has adjusted to the silence, nature's sound can be strong and brilliant. So this rite of passage has got the better of me and I suspect that tomorrow morning I will go out to the porch with my coffee to listen...and take in what comes my way. --John

THE CROSS It is a cold, clamy morning as it was yesterday and the day before. There isn't much of a pull to work outside, but the clock is ticking and the blessing of Tidewater Way is now less than two weeks away. I've been avoiding making a cross for the chapel for reasons of which I'm not quite sure, but there was a subtle reminder yesterday that it is time to get going. Peter and I were taking stored items out of the space above the garage and I noticed wood that I had set aside as being part of the cross, which will hang from the exposed joist above the eucharistic table. The cross will be two-sided with facing pieces of split birch attached to this wood which once served as he flooring for the loft in the chapel. The birch will be attached to this barn board and the edges of the brown wood will be painted with a chinese red paint. Last summer, Peter and I took the loft apart in order to create open space throughout the small room which is our chapel. And so the cross will be a strong focal point upon entering the chapel. I don't know why I delay on important projects and this one in particular. I'd like to think that as I gather the materials in the shop up at the barn, one step will follow another in the creative process and the cross will be built. I've had the entire winter to picture how it will all fit together, but the blueprint of the mind is seldom the way the object turns out. Hanging the suspended cross has taken quite a bit of time, but I think this, too, has been figured out. We'll see. Wood is very forgiving and I need every forgiving nudge I can get out of this project. The goal is to have the cross in place, even if it is hung on the morning of May 12th, when the Bishop and everyone else shows up. For all of my indecision on this, I know it will be successful if people quietly enter the room, sit down and then look up at the cross without speaking a word. This is a place of worship and prayer and silence is its treasured commodity.

PATRIOT'S DAY Last Monday, at about this time (8:00 a.m.), while the runners in Hopkinton were beginning to think about the Boston Marathon, all hell was breaking loose at Tidewater Way. Now we are the picture of serenity; a week ago we had wind gusts up to sixty miles an hour and the power was about to go off. One of our attractions to northern New England is its roughness. The landscape and the life here is not manicured. In the suburbs, you pay your taxes and the garbage is picked up and you hire others to do many things that you do for yourself up here. Thanks to our generator, we had power as the electrical lines fell and the telephone poles snapped on our dirt road. Pam got out for choir practice on Wednesday night and, slowly, stability returned. Thursday was a big day when the first crew from Central Maine Power showed up, preceeded by the whirr of their chain saws. They played up their role as liberators and we all had several laughs at the expense of all the downed power lines and the trees that were no match for the strong wind. Now it is clean-up time. The white pine boughs from the Maundy Thursday snow need to go up by the retreat house and the barn; the remains of all the trees cut down by the CMP crew need to be pushed back from the side of the road. We need to call Dale to have him fill in a new gully that was carved out of the center of the road and it is time to have a new delivery of propane so that the generator will be ready for the next storm. While it may not look like this is progress, it really is. The responsibility of caring for this place isn't understood in a linear way, it is seeing accomplishment and fulfillment in what needs doing at the moment and finding a way to do it. Things get put off left and right around here because we really try living in the moment with a whole variety of limitations. So who knows what will happen in the next week! Today, I think I will call CMP and do my best to get them out here to lift up the dangling line and hitch it to the telephone pole and I think I will crank up the chain saw to clean up some more of the storm mess...but you never know.

NO TRESPASSING When you come down State Route 129 and slow down by the yellow road sign of a man sitting on a tractor, you are getting close to Tidewater Way. As you take a left hand turn off of 129 onto the road called "Tidewater Way," you notice some additional signage. How strange! Ahead of you higher up on the tree is a sign that says, "No Trespassing." For a long time I didn't make the connection, but last fall our friend Bob, who used to live here, came over to walk the land with me. In the back of his truck he had a step ladder and volunteered that he was going to "post his land." He simply meant that he was going to various prominant places on his land to put signs on the trees that hunters were not welcome. These bright yellow signs were meant to give this message loud and clear. Bob owned "our" land for twenty years before we moved in and his own tattered "No Trespassing" signs are everywhere. We are in agreement on this. We don't want deer hunting and bullets on this land. I think most folks who come here for a retreat will figure this out. At least anyone will who has lived in the country. And, yet, it is a worthy thing to reflect on. This is a place that is based on hospitality and yet we want to keep some people out. Most are free to come here, but some are not. It all goes to show that hospitality is hard to come by. It reminds me of a very funny gift we received years ago, a welcome mat that boldly said in large, black letters, "Go Away." We put it at the back door of the rectory and hoped our parishioners would see the humor. Our vision of Tidewater Way is from the Rule of St. Benedict and it is that everyone will be welcomed as the Christ. We succeed with this in varying degrees, yet it is our aspiration with all of the contradictions hovering around us.

WAKING UP It is the day after Easter Sunday. Yesterday is the day when the Christian church admits that there is new life from death. Because of the life, death and resurrection of Jesus, in this most particular way, communities of faith around the globe are celebrating dynamic new life. Yesterday, Pam gave me a gentle reminder that the "Reflections" page of our website hadn't seen a new entry in a long time. A very long winter had merged into Lent. I knew this very well. Earlier in the week, I talked about my "writer's block" with my spiritual director. And like so many blocks, I have learned to honor them and wait patiently. The sap WILL run; a change WILL take place...but at its own time. When we envisioned Tidewater Way, long before we had a name for it, we realized it would be a long process. First we envisioned that we would build our retreat center and then, by the grace of God, we discovered that it had already been built. And we even liked the name! But it is a long process and if I have discovered anything about co-creating with God in birthing this place, it can't be rushed. When I try and explain this to folks who ask deeper questions, I usually talk about "living into the land." That is certainly true as anyone who has come from away knows when they move to northern New England for their first winter. We have to live through the seasons. We have to hear the trees crack and the ice snap. We record the movements of the birds and the chipmonks and we slowly come to understand that we, too, are undergoing a gravitational pull to the place where we have come. Writing for the sake of filling a webpage would be without soul. Talking about the challenges and, then, describing what it feels like to return "pen in hand" is about resurrection. This place is about this movement of spirit. From our years of parish ministry we know that clergy and spouses who come here for retreat will arrive looking for this change in their lives. They will sit out on the front porch or walk in the woods or have a moment of grace in the chapel and will sense they are different. And so the "writer's block" goes way on Easter Monday and new life returns. For all of it I give thanks to God.