Unpacking “Ware”

A member of the United Church of Ware told me the story of the origin of the town’s curious name.  It has nothing to do with a creative spelling of “where” or with the selling of “wares”; it is not someone’s last name or the name of a town in England.  It comes from the word “weir” (no, not as in “The Weir of Hermiston,” which was my immediate association, even though I don’t even know what that means…). 

Weir (wear/weer) is a native Nipmuk word meaning “many fish.” 

Before the white settlers took over and built dams for their mills, there was a natural falls on the river.  The Nipmuks used to build nets that they would stretch across the falls to catch the salmon going upstream.

By the time Ware was incorporated, there was already a town in Massachusetts named “weir”, so they had to change the spelling, which also changed the pronunciation.

That was in the 1700s.  The Dalles Dam was built on the Columbia River in the 1950s…  A ruling was just passed last week to allow the construction of a dam in the Amazon. 

When will we ever learn?

a Resurrection truth

Last year at Easter I wrote something to the effect that it would be enough for me to just have the stories of Jesus’ life, teachings and death; I don’t need a resurrection for them to have meaning and power in my life. 

But the thought I had during morning prayer today was that the disciples needed it!  And it’s only because of the profound ways they experienced Jesus’ presence after his death that they regained hope in his message and meaning and therefore passed on and wrote the gospel stories and letters and kept the Christian faith going.

Just because I don’t believe that Jesus’ body was raised back to life doesn’t mean the the disciples didn’t believe it!  That’s why we have Christianity at all today, and in that sense our faith is utterly dependent on the historical truth of the resurrection – because somebody else believed it. 

The gospel stories were written after the resurrection, because of the resurrection, in light of the resurrection.  And that IS a historical fact!

a blessed Easter

my easter weekend was full of wonderful easter-y things:

It began with a Maundy Thursday tenebrae service at Christa’s UCC church involving a simple, candlelit seder meal of lamb eaten in silence interspersed with the passion week readings and a few songs, ending in darkness.

We did a Stations of the Cross in front of the State House in Boston on Good Friday from 12-3pm. It is done as a statement against the death penalty and all state-sponsored violence, including war and economic exploitation. I wrote and read the 12^th Station (Jesus dies on the cross) and sang and played music (flute) with Fran Reagan (guitar) in between the stations. There were about 30 people participants taking turns reading, holding the cross, and holding banners. It was warm and sunny and i didn’t wear sunscreen…

That was followed by a Passover Seder at my cousin Jon’s house in Hadley. I met my cousin Amity in Boston and carpooled with her. There were 16 people total, including my aunt Lenore and Bill. The rest were Liz’s family. It was fun – my first REAL seder experience – i.e. how a real American Jewish family does it, not a presentation to show non-Jews how it’s done. Celia played the violin, Rita asked the four questions in sign language, and their other two cousins also participated with music and a modern-day interpretation skit about the Exodus from Egypt. I got back to Agape at midnight…

On Saturday, we had an Easter Vigil service here at Agape. I of course was on the music team. I sang the “Exsultet” at the beginning, which is basically an intro to what the service is all about: we rejoice, we remember what God has done for us, etc. I had never been to an Easter vigil before and never heard it before, so I plunked out the melody on the piano and found it to be very minor, modal, and chant-like. So I said, “this is a happy declaration , it should sound more joyful than that!” So I spent a half hour modifying and practicing it. A couple hours later, as I stood there in front of the 30 people in attendance, I looked down at the music and realized I didn’t really remember what I’d practiced… John, the priest, must have noticed my nervous hesitation because he laid a hand on my shoulder and said a little blessing prayer, which was exactly the boost I needed to get started and not get wrapped up in the perfection of the performance, trust in my own ability and rehearsal, and just sing whatever felt right. it wasn’t “perfect”, but it was good – and I got a lot of compliments from Catholics who had never heard it done that way before. I have to say I was impressed too, because I’ve never done anything like that before and wouldn’t have thought It’s something I could do!

i only got 6 hours of sleep Saturday night, but i managed to get out of bed at 6am on Sunday and drive to Ware for the Easter sunrise service at the United Church. They did it in the adjacent cemetery, which was nice symbolism, and we were facing a stand of trees with the golden haze from the shining behind them. It was short and nice – about 20-30 people present – followed by a pancake breakfast. Then I went for a walk in the park along the Ware river, below the church. It was cool, beautiful, and calm, with lots of birdsong.

later in the morning, i went to the UCC church in Hardwick (Christa’s parish again) for a lovely, fairly traditional-style Easter service including a brass quartet and music by Handel. To my surprise, Christa’s parents invited me to attend Easter brunch with them afterward! It was a lovely buffet at a local “Herb farm.” Apparently they have beautiful gardens and host a lot of weddings in the summer.

In the later afternoon, i drove to a nearby state park with a small lake and sat, read, walked, journaled, in the breezy sunshine. It was about 70 degrees outside and there were people fishing, kayaking, and playing on the little beach. On my drive home i stopped to watch the sunset.

what a beautiful Easter!

can a mountain die?

Today I went for a hike on Mount Wachusett, the highest peak in Massachusetts east of the Berkshires. The view from the top was a 360-degree panorama with Boston to the East and New Hampshire to the North. Unfortunately, it happened to be a somewhat hazy day, but I could just barely make out the lookout tower at the southern end of the Quabbin reservoir in Ware…

The mountain contains 1,000 of the state’s 10,000 remaining acres of old growth forest. It was a crazy trail, and not what I was expecting at all! A lot of it was walking on basalt slabs, part of it was a stone staircase, and in other places I was clambering up a hillside over rocks and roots following the blue blazes.

Part of the trail went through a hemlock forest and short, alpine-like deciduous trees. Another side of the hill was practically barren of undergrowth with a lot of downed trees and branches.

I couldn’t figure out the sensation I was having until the very end of the hike when the word “desolation” settled in my mind and I was overwhelmed by this sense that “the mountain is dying.” It looked like some giant behemoth had clambered along the hillside, pushing trees over, uprooting them, tromping on them once they’d fallen. I don’t understand why the western side of the mountain in particular was so strewn with broken trees. Weather? Is it the effects of wind, ice, water, and snow? It was pretty tragic. I was grateful for every little sign of spring I found along the way.