HERE AT THE CHURCH O THE PINES, it is a blustery November morning. The wind blows sharply off the river, while a low overcast contends with blue sky for dominance. The wind chimes on the deck sing, each with its own voice. Meanwhile the mostly bare branches of maples and basswoods whip wildly while the pine tops sway. The last
AT THE CHURCH O’ THE ISLAND, through a gauzy porch screen, one ponders the strange beauty of a (mostly) dead jackpine. It still looks over the lake as it has for decades, an icon of the North. Like all such trees, it speaks of hardiness and fortitude, of perseverance, of belonging to and growing from the place you are planted.
AT THE CHURCH O’ THE PINES we hug to ourselves the belief that our soaring tree trunks, green lofts and sanctuaries, are akin to the great cathedrals of the world. Similar in their aspirational nature and design. Such structures, throughout history, were built to lift hearts toward the heavens, and souls toward the highest of human values. Unfortunately, that is
AT THE CHURCH O’ THE PINES, the congregation is over the moon about Kathy Ann’s return. Sparky the Cardinal is singing his head off. And Kathy is feeling quite well today—nowhere near normal strength, but pretty good! But something else interesting is going on here in the pines by the river. We have a new visitor who’s never stopped by
GOOD MORNING from the cold and snowy Church O’ The Pines, where the rafters and beams and pews and aisles are frosted. And where we listen to a Bach Brandenburg Concerto as we post these church notes. We are sometimes asked how our humble church is different from—or similar to—other churches you may know. Well, let’s start with the differences.
EVERY GOOD CHURCH has something special to recommend it. The architecture perhaps. Or the beauty of the grounds. History, tradition. The feeling of spiritual uplift one gets from attending. Our Church O’ The Pines, under the big pine grove by the Mississippi, has all of these. But in truth, my favorite feature is the virtue of the congregation. Oh, I
AT THE CHURCH O’ THE PINES, it is winter. As it was winter yesterday and will be winter again tomorrow. Winter is a fine season, if you like snow and ice and cold, more dark and less light, fewer birds and no flowers. But it is still a fine season–one of our top four–and I like it. Just not as
AND SO IT IS AUTUMN. At the Church O The Pines, the morning light is different. Things seem to glow with some inherent luminescence of their own. The blue of a blue sky is a little deeper. The angle of the sun makes the river sparkle a bit more brightly. And there is just the beginning of a certain tang
AT THE CHURCH O’ THE ISLAND, outside the slammin’ screen door of the Dear Old Cabin (100 years old next year) things are green and growing. Except for the rocks which are gray and weathering. A morning thunderstorm helps with both processes (albeit microscopically with the rock part). Yesterday saw the arrival of Son #1 and family, today Son #2
ON THIS SUNDAY MORNING at the Church O’ The Pines, we are grateful for the rising of the sun. For the songs of small birds and the chipping of chipmunks. For the flowing of a river and the growing of trees. For an old cabin for shelter. For the screaming of jays. For the company of two fine cats. For