Floating Fish and Mercy

Dead fish are floating in the two ponds below the church in Rosebud. Hundreds of them. Freckled, white, and belly up. They're congregating in the stagnant corners and some are beached on the grass. My friend Morris says they took a wrong turn when the waters were running high and ended up in an ox bow without sufficient oxygen in the water. Hundreds of them.

     They followed the flow, the movement, the school, the group... and suddenly found themselves stuck far from home and stranded for passing heron.

     My boys were fascinated of course. -Here's one without an eyeball, here's one dried like a Japanese delicacy, but I felt sad. Lost, trying to sort out the purpose.

     Today Morris and I walked briefly to the spot and sure enough they're still there. He confirmed my drowning suspicion with all the flooding we had,        
but I also wondered if they were polluted by possible methane leaks from nearby drilling. The water in the farm wells just past these pounds has been contaminated with methane to the point where they can light it on fire. -So I'm told.
     What does that say about our water from the hill? What does that say about our earth? These are troubling questions I don't even want to answer right now because I'm ashamed of my ignorance.

     The Canadian election happened yesterday and many of my artist friends are disappointed and scared and many of my decent stable neighbors are glad. It reminds me of the polarization I hear in the States when I visit family. Strong feelings and threats... It weighs on my chest.

--Bin Laden... I have no joy in this. And not because I am righteous. I actually have fear that a retaliation to save face will come from the Taliban.

I want no celebration for the death of this poor deluded man.

I want truth and grace to be our focus. Not justice above all.

  
     Sunday evening I spoke Portia's monologue from The Merchant of Venice to a small congregation at the Lutheran Church in Drumheller. It was part of an evening fundraising concert by the women's choir. Beautiful acoustics...

I had the opportunity to look out over the sanctuary and up into the balcony and voice some Shakespeare that has been in my bones for 24 years. "The quality of mercy is not strained. It droppeth as the gentle rain from Heaven upon the place beneath..." "consider this: that in the course of justice, none of us should see salvation. We do pray for mercy. And that same prayer doth teach us all to render the deeds of mercy..."

Thank God when it comes to us, Mercy doesn't just "season", but trumps justice.

I'm still sad.

But a little better for the chat and morning walk in the grey with Morris. He sees truth in both sides of the election, and harps about those who spout villainy. He's right.

There's good in both sides.

And true Villainy is rare.

We spout because we're afraid.

and that's the grey truth of it.

So today these swollen fish remind me:

Be careful of rushing waters,

Be careful of groups

Be careful of getting out of your depth where there's not enough air to breathe. Not enough truth

or clarity.

Be careful

Do justice, love mercy,

walk humbly.

[none of these images are mine this time]