A couple weeks ago, Rev. Cindy and I headed out for a walk that, like so many of our conversations, wandered as naturally as the trail itself. We solved none of the world’s problems, but we noticed a few things that reminded us how easily we complicate our lives.
Standing quietly in the marsh was a magnificent great blue heron. Those that know me well know that I have a special affection for herons. Over the years, they’ve become something of a personal reminder that I’m exactly where I need to be, God’s gentle nudge that says I’m in the right place. So every time I see one, I pause and watch.
A little further down the Rindge Rail Trail, suddenly three bright yellow butterflies appeared. They didn’t simply fly past us. Instead, they circled around us as though inviting us into some joyful dance. For a few moments, we simply watched them drift and flutter through the morning air. We smiled, laughed and took a couple of quick pictures with our phones, not because we needed proof they were there, but because we wanted to remember how it felt.
A short time later, we passed a photographer carrying a camera unlike anything either of us have ever owned. The lens alone seemed nearly as long as my arm. It was magnificent equipment, no doubt capable of capturing breathtaking images of that heron or those butterflies, but it also looked incredibly heavy.
Thus began another conversation. We both admitted that we’re people who genuinely enjoy organizing life. We like good systems. We appreciate efficiency. We enjoy creating routines that help us accomplish more. But somewhere along the way, we acknowledged, systems can quietly become burdens.
The more complicated they become, the less likely we are to keep using them. Whether it’s organizing our homes, managing our calendars, tracking our exercise, sorting our photographs, or even nurturing our spiritual lives, there’s a tipping point where the system begins demanding more attention than the life it was designed to support.
It reminded me of Jesus’ visit with Martha and Mary in the Gospel of Luke. Martha wasn’t doing anything wrong. She was serving, preparing, organizing, making sure everything was just right. Jesus never criticized her work itself. Instead, he gently pointed out that she had become “worried and distracted by many things,” while Mary had chosen simply to be present.
That little phrase has always stayed with me: “worried and distracted by many things.” How many of us spend our days carrying emotional telephoto lenses? We carry expectations, endless to-do lists, complicated routines, possessions that require maintenance, schedules that leave no room for wonder and systems that promise simplicity but somehow create the opposite. The irony is almost humorous, as we really do create complicated systems to try to make life easier, and sometimes life would actually become easier if we simply let go of the complicated system.
The heron certainly wasn’t worried about getting the perfect photograph of itself. The butterflies weren’t performing for an audience; they were simply being what God created them to be. Perhaps that’s part of the invitation creation offers us every day. All that is “required” of us is to observe, wonder and smile … and take a picture if we’d like. Then put the phone back in our pocket and keep walking. After all, some of life’s richest moments last only a few seconds. If we’re too busy adjusting the lens, organizing the files, or perfecting the process, we may miss the very experience we hoped to preserve.
Jesus often invited people to become like children — not childish, but childlike. Children don’t usually need elaborate systems to experience joy. They chase butterflies without first reading a manual. They splash in puddles without wondering how the pictures will turn out. They live inside the moment. Maybe that’s why they often seem so close to the kingdom of God.
The older I get, the more I suspect that spiritual maturity isn’t about adding more and more to our lives, but perhaps more about carrying less. It’s about creating less clutter (physically and emotionally) and less complexity. It’s about letting go of the need to control every detail, so we leave enough space to notice a heron standing silently in the marsh and enough freedom to let three yellow butterflies remind us that joy still circles quietly around those willing to stop and see it.
And perhaps that’s why the heron has become such a meaningful companion on my walks. It never seems hurried. It doesn’t chase every ripple or flap at every distraction. It simply stands … patient, attentive, completely present to the moment God has given it.
Maybe that’s the invitation waiting for all of us. We don’t need to carry the heaviest equipment, build the most elaborate systems, or document every beautiful moment. Sometimes the greatest gift is simply to be fully present — to observe, to wonder and to trust that if we’re paying attention, God has a way of reminding us that we’re exactly where we need to be.
Athol Congregational Church is a community of faith that is “small enough to know you, large enough to serve.” Join us this fall as we begin our year: “Christian Enough? What Matters Most … and What Doesn’t,” during worship at 10 a.m. on Sundays in-person or on FB live under “Athol Congregational Videos.” Sunday school is offered at 10 a.m. and we truly welcome everyone, no matter where you are on your faith journey. We offer long-distance Reiki through our certified practitioners, are willing to pray with you whatever your need, and want to know you, whoever you are! Connect with us on the Athol Congregational Church Facebook page or at atholcongregational.com.