Wild goose

Thursday, September 4, 2025

(click here to listen to or read today’s scriptures)

Wild goose

Jesus said to Simon, “Do not be afraid;

from now on you will be catching men.”

When they brought their boats to the shore,

they left everything and followed him.

Here’s something I didn’t know (I don’t know a lot of things!). Celtic monks in St. Patrick’s day portrayed the Holy Spirit not only as a dove, but also a wild goose.

An geadh-glas, the Gaelic language calls the Holy Spirit. Melissa Logsdon, a pastor at New Covenant Fellowship in Champaign, was fishing quietly with her husband when a goose sprang at her and chased her halfway to their car.

Caught unawares, you say? God is close by and might sneak up on me just when I don’t expect it? That’s a little scary when God is portrayed as a mama goose. On the other hand my belief that Yahweh, the God who made me, is intimate with me and present every instant of my life (Psalm 139 leaps to mind) … well, that belief holds me up in times of trouble. Still, it’s always kind of a shock when … there He is!

Thoughts from the internet: this goose is an “uncontrollable, untamed creature. The wild goose symbolizes a spirit that is passionate, noisy and courageous.” And the Holy Spirit likewise is “impossible to track or contain; she embodies an unexpected, creative and spontaneous nature.”

What must it be like to live a life led by the Holy Spirit? “Following the Wild Goose leads to a life of circumstantial uncertainty and adventure on an unpredictable path.”

This life is hardly a wild goose chase, not how we usually mean it. However, when I seek to control that Goose I run the risk of being bitten. Will the Holy Spirit challenge or protect me?

Both, of course. Our other symbol for the Spirit is the dove. “The dove represents peace and gentleness, while the wild goose emphasizes the Spirit’s ‘benign menace’ and dynamic uncontrollable power (as seen in the chaotic and fiery events of Pentecost.”

Margaret and I sing a hymn nearly every day during our devotion time. The hymns remind me of eternity and recall centuries of spiritual music written long ago and still sung today.  We are rarely rocked to our core by these hymns; they comfort us instead. We listen to other music too, to feel the dazzle of the Wild Goose, but the Dove invites us to come along toward peace in the morning.

Both sides of the Spirit call to me – so I can be still, pray, and know that God is here … and also seek the energy and wonder that flow through me when I learn something new, am awestruck by somewhere beautiful, or spend time with a precious friend. And isn’t every person precious in the sight of God? Aren’t all things bright and beautiful?

Jasper plucks our taut strings when he says he’s “bored.” For him, though, it’s not boring to tell us that he’s bored because we frown, and his sly smile betrays his motive. He knows what he’s doing.

I can’t imagine being bored. I love the poetry of Maine-man Steve Garnaas-Holmes; I think he too must never be bored. Nearly every day he calls out of nothing a new point of view about an old experience. That’s what poets do, especially when they are led by a wild goose.

Burial Items

Our strange friends, those Egyptian mummies,

were buried with necklaces and fancy hats,

pots, an axe, some onions, often gold.

Rich ones got furniture.

In their luggage Viking warriors took

swords and amulets and bags of coins.

A great one would get a boat.

So what would I be buried with?

I think I’d like nothing but me.

No tools for labor or riches for commerce,

no trinkets for some mindless dalliance,

no fidget toy for under-stimulation,

no costume, no clothes at all: naked,

at my least presentable, received

into the Kingdom of Belonging.

I’ll lie still, not needing to go anywhere,

at peace with my surroundings,

attentive to the soil I lie in,

and marvel at my flesh

as it falls away layer by layer,

my faithful bones that sustained me all those years.

I’d prefer nothing to distract me from

really hearing that pure silence down there,

sensing the tug of earth

and how it moves a little in its sleep,

feeling the grit between my fingers, getting to know

the dirt I came from and am becoming.

Maybe watching as root hairs

make their mysterious way through me.

And if there enter worms:

more wondrous beings to behold—

more complicated than I thought!—

to watch their squirming, and their patient work.

Maybe without all that hardware,

without past or future,

after years of practice,

I might become fully present

to where I am. – Steve Garnaas-Holmes

On any given day, I pray for our grandkids’ eyes to be opened to poetry like this, to the endless journey of the Wild Goose, and to our opportunity, each one of us, to follow.

Give thanks to the Father, who has made you fit to share

in the inheritance of the holy ones in light.

He delivered us from the power of darkness

and transferred us to the Kingdom of his beloved Son.

(Colossians 1, Psalm 98, Matthew 4, Luke 5)

(posted at www.davesandel.net)

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