Took a detour on the way south just to see some new country. From time to time its good to change the route to make the journey interesting.

By pure chance we found ourselves on Highway 14 in Rochester, Minnesota, heading east and decided to follow it all the way to Winona. For most of the run the highway was unremarkable, rolling farmland broken by small towns with names like Eyota, Dover, and Lewiston. But a dozen or more miles from the river the topography changed as the highway plunged down from the prairies and through the coulees.

For those who live in mountain country coulees are nothing much, not hills at all but rather valleys like the hollows of the Ozarks. But in our flat state they’re the best most of us will do, our own little piece of pseudo-alpine country, a chance to drive the scenic twisties normally reserved for folks farther west.

Highway 14 winds out its run clinging to the sides of these coulees, stark in winter beauty, inaccessible for human use, and refuge for any creature who can adapt to them. At some points along the way you can see for miles as the valleys break steeply from the road leaving nothing but space between their sides. A few miles back the road snaked through farmland, domesticated, servile, and long broken by plows. But here there is still a memory of the wild, a place too steep for lumberjacks, too difficult for miners, and unsurrendered to any human implement. Rattlesnakes live in these valleys as they have since the last ice age and no one has ejected them from their towers.

In too short a time the houses reemerge, a few here and there, and then as the valley levels to the floodplain more and and more. Soon we’re in town again with all its lights and comforts but curious minds can wonder what things have yet to be discovered, what caves remain hidden, or what wild thing remains wild just a mile or so back up the road.

At least I do.

6 below farenheit last night, looks like real winter is coming back. The weather report says snow today in southeastern Minnesota and Iowa. Could be a long drive to LaCrosse.

I remember winter like this. As a child I recall snow banks tall enough to require cars to have a bright orange or green ball on their antennas so we could see them from the sidewalk. On nights when the snow was deep and the sky clear the temperature would drop, sometimes well below zero, and everything became still. In the darkness houses with lights on glowed warm and the snow underfoot crunched beneath your boots. Every so often you could turn, look over your shoulder, and see the remnants of your breath floating through the air.

There’s a romance to that but there is a truth as well. The truth is that I get older the charm of winter decreases. What was beautiful and serene in my childhood grows colder with each passing year. I can still endure it but the childhood joy of winter and snow only rarely resurfaces these days. I do what I have to do.

Some years ago I served a parish in Kansas and on the whole it was a sad experience, a small church that wanted nothing of the future, good people trapped in something they could not understand. But the weather, dry and clear, only occasionally dipping into the 20’s, spoiled me, perhaps for life. I was willing to pay for the hot summers with an easy winter and even if that time was not typical it was set inside me as the way I wanted these months to pass.

I don’t want to go to Kansas again but some day I’ll retire to some place where winter is like that, not Florida warm and muggy but not frozen hard like here either. In time, everything in time…

I’ve included in my list of links a site called “Dhimmi Watch” which is the product of the same folks who produce jihadwatch.org.

The term “dhimmi” refers to the status of non Muslims in a Muslim dominated society, generally a status of existing as people whose fate, for good or ill, is largely in the hands of the dominant Muslim culture. Dhimmi Watch documents things that you’ll probably not see in the mainstream media, instances of Muslim cultural intrusion or dominance around the world and the effects it has on non Muslim peoples. Perhaps out of ignorance, laziness, fear, or that strange part of American culture that identifies with forces seeking its destruction the ongoing efforts of some in the the larger Islamic community to establish Islamic law and practice globally has often been ignored.

But we as Christians need to be aware of both our faith and what is happening in the world in order to respond in a Christian way and so I provided the link with a few caveats. The main person behind these pages is a scholarly type named Robert Spencer who appears well versed in Islamic culture, the Koran, and while honest is remarkably moderate in tone. Some of those who post comments on his site are not so gracious and this needs to be taken into consideration.

It’s also not about instilling fear and hatred. The greatest defense of Christian faith is for those who hold it to know it and practice it. When we do we have nothing to fear and no one to hate. The stories presented in Dhimmi Watch are not to inspire racism or revenge but rather awareness and the call to pray for those in the Muslim world, for they are as much as we people God loves and for whom Christ died and rose again even if they consider that and us as blasphemous.

So read and be aware.

Picked this up while browsing over at Dick Staub’s blog. “Every saint has a past and every sinner has a future”

For some time now I had been reading, in short bursts, “The Way of a Pilgrim” a tale of Russian Orthodox spirituality centered on a wanderer seeking a life of continual prayer. I actually found the book several years ago in a used book sale at a local public library and its been close by ever since.

At times when I read the book and others with collections of the desert Fathers or biographies of illuminaries like St. Macarius a part of me wishes for the same life of contemplation and ceaseless encounter with God. I suspect that I’m like many who feeled pulled in too many directions and would give much to be simply focused and directed. But even as I do I realize two important things.

First I have to recognize that some of this is just an urge for rest. It’s not easy, sometimes, to live halfway between here and there, caring for a parish in one town and living in another. At times I wonder why God simply doesn’t fill the people of St. Elias with such hope and inspiration that all their fears and struggles would vanish and their tenativeness would disappear. But to get to that place of peace and joy, a place where their hearts would naturally respond to the care and nurture of the parish, will take time and time means that for now I still need to travel. So the normal rest of proximity, of being in the place I serve, of returning home in minutes rather than hours following Liturgy will have to wait. And sometimes that desire for a time in the desert is just my body and my soul’s way of asking for rest.

Then, too, I believe I would make a terrible monk. For a while it might be novel to live in community and pursue the life of a monastic but I know that it would wear off and then what? As much as the larger world has its shares of sadness and stuggle it is still, for lack of a better term, my home the place where I belong. I respect the conviction that causes people to flee the world but I do not share it. So what am I to do?

The truth is I’m not sure. In these issues of prayer and contemplation and the ascetic life I am an amateur acting almost entirely on a combination of scattered writings and instinct. Seeing the value of constant prayer and the call on my life in the world I have been trying, and mostly not succeeding, to fill in every open space with, if not formal prayer at least the Jesus Prayer or thoughts of godly things. I try to go to sleep at night with prayer and wake in the morning with the same. If I cannot fill all my day with prayer I feel I should at least attempt to fill all the cracks, the open spaces in a day’s business, with heavenly things or at least to see the holy in all things. I presume that over time, as the Bible says, a little yeast will leaven the whole lump and what I do in bits and pieces will eventually become just the way of my life.

This all may sound pious but the truth is that I’m just at the very beginning, the point where I see the need and I’m trying to find a way. Most of the time I miss the mark, and that’s not just the kind of “humble speak” we Orthodox are often so good at, it’s the truth. All I know is that I need a different kind of life and by grace I want to find it, or have it find me.

From Dennis Prager…

A bit of wisdom from Michael Medved…

The weather reports say a major winter storm will be coming through after noon tomorrow with sleet, rain, and a possible six inches plus of snow. It was bound to come, they always do.

Getting to LaCrosse should be okay, just get on the road early enough in the morning and beat the storm as it crosses through Minnesota in to Wisconsin. The ride home, though, will be another thing, long, tedious, eyes always on the road, and everything at the mercy of the weather. The car is as prepared as it can be and everything will just have to unfold as it does.

We may think, sometimes, that we are, by virtue of our technologies and skills, the masters of the world we walk in. This may be true in a certain way. All along the river road I’ll be transported by things that 200 years ago may have seemed like magic. But nature still charges her tolls and nothing, not even the best things we can design, escapes its grasp. If the weather says “Go slow” even the best car still must go slow.

So, we’ll see how things happen, pray for the best, and head south along the Mississippi.

Had the annual eye exam a few days ago and it appears that bifocals or perhaps even trifocals are in the future. They assure me that I can easily get used to looking through them but I intend to fight it all the way! For some reason bifocals just mark a place I’m not yet ready to enter, the door to being an “old” person or something like that. I presume I’ll get them some time, but not today.

An interesting article from the Weekly Standard on how science is making embryonic stem cells unnecessary.