Church guide

PALM SUNDAY is coming! Join us at 10 am for the Liturgy of the Palms, Reading the Passion Gospel, and Holy Eucharist: Rite Two.

THE MONTANA JOURNAL No. 15—April 8, 2019 SPRING HITS THE GREAT DIVIDE MY VERY LIMITED REPERTOIRE of guitar songs is mostly old Cowboy Ballads. “I Ride an Old Paint,” is one of my favorites, although I’ve never known what it meant to “go to Montana to throw the hoolihan.” I thought a hoolihan was a rope a cowboy would maybe throw around a horse’s neck. But no! It’s the insane practice of bulldogging a steer by jumping off your horse—at a full gallop—and onto the horns of the steer, rather than twisting the steer’s horns to bring him down. I’m not a violent man or a criminal, but I do like playing and singing, “I Shot a Deputy Down.” I also like “Streets of Laredo,” “Down in the Valley,” and “Red River Valley.” But my favorite cowboy song of all times is “The Night Rider’s Lament,” by Jerry Jeff Walker. The chorus goes like this: They've never seen the Northern Lights They've never seen a hawk on the wing They've never seen a spring hit the Great Divide And they've never heard ol d camp cookie sing. When I was seventeen and just graduated from high school, my father got me a job as a ranch hand on the Quarter Circle “I” Ranch in Alamosa, Colorado. There were over 700 quarter horses, palominos, appaloosas, and thoroughbreds, and the first night I helped deliver a foal. The owner was Hank Wiescamp, an ornery old Dutchman who could tell immediately that I didn’t know a darned thing about horses or building fence. What good was I? But I could speak Spanish, and the real cowboys were all from Mexico, or related to Wiescamp, so I got to stay. Day after day, week after week, I worked from 7 am to 7 pm, seven days a week. I fed and watered horses mostly, and I did learn a lot over that long summer. And that included a whole new Spanish vocabulary. In high school, I had free rein over the University Horse Unit and would ride several times a week. I had a part-time job at the Cattle Nutrition Unit, working for John Cunningham. I thought I knew more than I did, but truth was, I didn’t know much at all. The next summer, my brother Jim and I went to Michigan and worked on our Uncle Ted and Aunt Genevieve’s Holstein dairy farm. We managed to break equipment and cause problems, but we still found time to build and repair fence, cut silage, put up hay, dehorn calves, feed and milk 50 cows, and feed another 50 heifers, twice a day, every day, for another long summer. Not until Leigh and I came to live on the Rockin’ Diamond 4 Ranch outside Dillon did much of my livestock experience come into any kind of focus. A rain storm will blow up in a few minutes. You’ll have 3-4 inches of snow on the ground when you wake up in the morning. Deer jump across a barbed-wire fence at dusk when you’re driving home—and then burst across the two-lane road like they’re on fire. Spring is hitting the Great Divide where we live—and believe me, it’s close. The thermometer got up to 55F twice last week. Green grass is sprouting up everywhere. Magpies are building their nests in the spruce trees. The sandhill cranes are returning to their rookery on the Beaverhead River. Bald eagles and hawks and great horned owls are making quick work of field mice, moles, and squirrels. And we’ve just about burned up all our firewood. Ranch hands are working overtime--cutting pastures and trouble-shooting their irrigation equipment. The calving season is in full swing. Going into town yesterday, I counted 23 new black Angus calves nursing in the pasture across the road. They were already branded and tagged. AI, or artificial insemination, was a new technology in 1972 when Jim and I were on the dairy farm. But in the 21st century, all of the Angus cows are impregnated within days by sperm from the top bulls in the country, thanks to a legion of agricultural scientists. The results are staggering. Generations of cows are bred for fertility, weight gain, disease resistance, and overall health. Calves are born within a week or ten days of each other. It’s what my father taught for 50 years, Animal Science. It may snow again this week, but this world is renewing itself day after day. Holy Week begins this coming Sunday, April 14, and I am prepared and ready. Peace be with everyone! Wells+

MARY JO O'ROURKE has been honored by the University of Montana Western as a recipient of the Dr. Jane Helm Maddock Service Award for 2019. Mary Jo and her husband, Dr. George Johnston, moved in Dillon in 1978. In the 1980s, she collaborated with local residents and worked to "Save Our College." This effort was instrumental in establishing Western as part of the University of Montana System. Mary Jo O'Rourke also helped to establish the Women's Resource Center. She has served on the Beaverhead County Museum Association Board and the local Tree Board. Dillon is recognized as a "Tree City USA," thanks to their good work, and Mary Jo co-wrote a $10,000 Tree City grant awarded to the City of Dillon. Mary Jo currently serves Saint James Episcopal Church as a member of the Vestry and the Altar Guild. Her list of service includes many nonprofit and volunteer organizations. She is also a elected member of the Dillon City Council. An awards ceremony will be held on Tuesday, April 16, at 5:30 pm in the Lewis & Clark Room in Matthews Hall on the UMW campus. Congratulations to Mary Jo O'Rourke for this distinguished honor!

PLEASE REMEMBER in your prayers today Dorothy Brown, mother of our own Dorothy DeHart, having surgery.

STEVE AND WELLS in their Lenten vestments. We hope to see you this Sunday morning at 10 am for the last service of Rite One, the traditional language of our Book of Common Prayer.

The Beaverhead Community Food Pantry is one great way that the people of Saint James Episcopal Church help their neighbors in need. Thanks for your generosity and extraordinary acts of kindness! Peace, Wells+

THE MONTANA JOURNAL No. 14—April 1, 2019 OPPORTUNITIES FOR ADVENTURE LIVING IN SOUTHWEST MONTANA for us means having opportunities for adventure! Leigh’s sister Adair, a high school English teacher at Boulder High in Colorado, was on Spring Break last week and came to see us. Henry Taylor and his dad were going on their annual baseball road trip to Arizona, so Henry’s mom came to see us! Henry is 10 years old and a sports phenom. This winter he played hockey for the first time and was, to nobody’s surprise, an outstanding player. But baseball is Henry’s chosen sport and for good reason. Not only is Henry masterful at third base, short stop, and on the pitching mound, he is also like Mike Trout at the plate. Trout is the Angels’ outfielder who just signed a 12-year $412 million contract. Henry is also a very good student, a fine person, and another one of those children I baptized at St. Dunstan’s in Auburn—when he was only eight days old. And do I have to say it? That was truly some of my best work ever. Adair told me that when Henry talks about Gratitude at bedtime with Jack, he always says he is grateful for Doc and Lolly. This makes me very happy. Adair came to Dillon on a beautiful spring day, and we showed her the sights of the city—the Log Home, Saint James Episcopal Church; Sparky’s Garage Restaurant, Bar, and Casino; the Little House we are buying on S. Washington Street; and Murdoch’s Ranch and Farm Supply, my favorite store in town. On Monday night, Leigh and Adair decided we should go to Jackson Hole, Wyoming and the Grand Tetons National Park! I rearranged my work schedule, made home and hospital visits on Tuesday morning, printed the bulletins, and we were packed and on I-15 south by early afternoon. Leigh the master planner had already arranged on AirB&B for a condo in Teton Village. We drove through the Teton Pass and into Jackson Hole (that’s a valley out here), ate a great supper at some place with the name “Moose” in it, and talked until late into the night. The next day was filled with adventure, natural beauty, sightseeing, shopping, and hiking in the park. The snow was still deep and pristine in the Park. Several of the entrances were not open yet, but there was more than enough to see and experience, and we were amazed by the Reclining Indian and the three peaks of the Tetons. I bought a Cowboy hat at a western store in Jackson Hole, and then found a Moose Hockey baseball cap walking back to the condo on Wednesday night! Here’s where you can vote for your favorite look … Nick the Wonder Dog stayed home for the first time since we arrived in Montana on January 5. He was months overdue for a bath, and it would have been difficult to take him on our deep snow adventures. On Thursday morning, Adair left for Longmont and we took our time heading back to Dillon. The weather report was a surprising 3-5 inches of snow in Southwest Montana, as if Spring had never arrived! Fortunately, we had an easy trip back through the Pass and all the way to the Montana border. By Friday morning, most of the snow had melted and it looked like we were arriving in April. As you know, we have not seen a real Spring yet in the Mountain West, but I know it will be beautiful. Love to all. Wells+ (334) 332-3222 [email protected]

SERMON 1145 Fourth Sunday in Lent March 31, 2019 THE PRODIGAL SON Grace to you, and peace, from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen. I knew a woman once who said that she couldn’t stand the story of the Prodigal Son. “It’s just not fair,” she said in a loud voice. “What about the Faithful Son? He always did what his father wanted. He never betrayed his father, and he always did the right thing. It’s just not fair!” Years later, I knew two sons who were loved and cared for, raised in the same Christian home by the same wonderful parents. They went to the same doctor, the same schools, the same community and sporting events, the same church. They were raised with generosity and compassion, with love and understanding. They had everything two boys could ever want. But they turned out dramatically different. The older son was very bright, handsome, well-liked at school and church. He was a talented musician and an excellent student. He played sports, loved to work on a computer, and seemed to do very well at everything he ever tried. It was like he had the Midas touch; everything seemed to turn to gold in his hands. The younger son was also smart and good-looking, perhaps even better liked by his friends and much more easy-going and very modest about his accomplishments and his talents. The younger son didn’t seem to have the drive or the ambition of the older boy. He couldn’t figure out what he wanted to do with his life, and his parents worried about him. They talked with each other about what their younger son might do in life. When the boys were in elementary school, the differences between them didn’t seem considerable and certainly didn’t appear to be cause for alarm. They were good kids from a good family, and all the neighbors thought those boys would be happy and successful—like their parents and grandparents before them. When the older boy graduated from high school—with honors, of course—he was accepted at the college he had dreamed of and left home. He did very well his first year and decided to major in computer science. He was a natural. Dean’s List. Responsible. Honest and hard- working. His younger brother started showing signs of trouble with school and difficulties in life about then. In his junior year, his grades began to slip dramatically, and he got in hot water a few times. As a senior, he was drinking beer and smoking pot on weekends with his “new” friends. He wrecked his car, but he said it wasn’t his fault. The parents really thought they knew both of their sons and they genuinely loved them both. But they were getting very frustrated and impatient with the younger son. He was very distant and growing more so. He didn’t want to talk with them. He quit going to church about that time, and said he wasn’t interested in going to college. They begged him to give it a try for the next fall, and he agreed—as long as they got him an apartment and a better car to drive. I don’t think he ever went to class. He bombed out of the first semester and was arrested for drug possession by the college police. But he stayed and worked at various jobs in town—waiting tables, working as a store clerk and lots of other minimum wage positions. He was a hard worker it seems, and he was always charming and friendly. People liked him, and he seemed to get by, get along, and get away with things he shouldn’t have. And when he lost a job, for whatever reason, he seemed to have no problem at all getting another one. He went into a drug rehabilitation program the next year, and it was one of many drug rehab programs over the next several years. He got his girlfriend pregnant, and when the baby was born, he showed himself to be a good father, the most responsible and caring he had been about anything. Meanwhile, the older boy graduated from college, got a great job with a firm in Atlanta, played guitar and performed on weekends, married his college sweetheart, continued to be very active in church, and had nothing to do with his wayward brother. Who could blame him? Those Lenten themes of Creation, Sin, Judgment, and Redemption are supposed to apply to all of us. All of us have experienced the joy of new life, the beauty of nature, the freedom to go and do whatever was our heart’s desire. Certainly these two sons knew these joys and felt this freedom. And that’s what good parents give their children—opportunity, loving care, and helpful guidance. We cannot protect our children from Sin. We can do our best to teach them to use good judgment and to avoid making big mistakes. Some people, it seems, have a better tool kit than others. They can resist temptation better. They can stay on the right path. They can “Just Say No” when they need to, and they can say “Yes” to the good things in life, to healthy choices. But why are people this way? Why is Good easy for some, and why is Evil so compelling for others? And when it comes to Judgment, some of us learn quickly from our mistakes and our sins. We look back on what we have done and feel remorse and guilt—while others decide they weren’t treated fairly, or they shouldn’t have gotten caught, or heap excuse upon excuse for their own fate. And so we arrive at the final stage of Lent—a recognition of our own frailty and weakness. This is probably hardest of all. People nowadays have a very hard time admitting they were wrong, taking the blame, recognizing their own responsibility for what they have done or left undone. Earlier this year, the younger son went into a halfway house and seems to be doing better than he has for years. He still struggles daily with temptation, with addiction, with frailty and weakness. I think he genuinely wants to be good, wants to be redeemed, desires very much to be forgiven. Reconciliation is what he needs—with Christ, with his parents, with everyone he has hurt, and with himself. But nobody can give him this Reconciliation. Like the Prodigal Son, at some point, probably sitting in a pig pen, this young man needs to “come to himself.” I hope it happens soon. Recently, the older son visited his parents at their home. He was angry about his brother, at his brother, and with his parents. “What about me?” he demanded. “What about me?” He was just like the older brother in the Parable, too proud to go in to the feast, too angry to forgive his brother, unable to see his own need for Redemption, Reconciliation, and Forgiveness. I hope it happens soon. AMEN. 1186 words FOURTH SUNDAY IN LENT March 31, 2019 1,192nd Week as Priest 13th Week at Saint James

Finance Corner – By Barb Hagen I recently read Bishop Brookhart’s latest book, The Language of Love. I found a quote I wanted to share with you. “Every Christian has skills, interests, and experiences that can be offered to God as ministry, as service to Christ and the world. I have, for example, always admired church treasurers. It's a job more complicated and time -intensive than most people imagine and it requires a certain mindset and skills I do not have. They serve, minister in this way. " Treasurers have a difficult job and as Bishop Brookhart states in his book, it is more complicated and time-intensive than most people can imagine. I want to take some time to say thank you to our church treasurers and bookkeepers. My mom was the treasurer of our church when I was growing up (St. Augustine’s in Rhinelander, Wisconsin). I remember the big check book and can picture her working on the parochial report, the kitchen table filled with papers etc. It is a big job and it takes just the right person to handle it all. I am grateful to those who say yes to the call. Those who are willing to step into the unknown and to serve in this way that is not flashy or exciting. They are often behind the scenes, making things happen. They don’t always see the end results of their labors and may not be in direct contact with those who benefit from the funds they manage. Thank you to the treasurers who so faithfully serve our churches. They work hard to meet deadlines, to keep track of funds and they sometimes worry when there is not enough money coming in. They use the gifts God has given them to serve God and to provide ministry in this way. They are careful, prayerful and mindful of the needs of others. I am so grateful for their presence in my life and for their willingness to do this hard work. I wrote a prayer for them. A prayer for Church Treasurers: O God, we lift up to you those who manage our funds We ask you to give us: Love - when we don’t know how to make the budget work, remind us to be loving to one another. Joy – when we receive an unexpected gift, may we remember to thank You and the donor Grant us Peace – when the bank balance is low Patience - when pledges are not coming in on time Grant us Kindness – that may we remember to be kind to one another, especially when everything feels scarce Goodness – may we remember that all good comes from You Faithfulness – Help us to look to You and to remember we have all that we need in You. Amen.

SERMON 1144 Third Sunday in Lent March 24, 2019 THE NAME OF GOD Grace to you, and peace, from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen. In ancient times, the Name of God was considered so holy, so far beyond the understanding and experience of human beings, that this Name was never said aloud. It was considered dangerous, even blasphemous, to speak the Name of God. To this day, Orthodox Jews do not say the Name of God—in worship or in private. Instead, they refer to God as “the Almighty,” “the Holy One,” or as “Hashem,” which is Hebrew for “the Name.” Why would this be the case? I would say that it is a reflection of their awe and reverence for the Lord. You recall the term mysterium tremendum et fascinans? This is the fear and fascination one feels in God’s presence. It is the experience of the holy that I talked about several weeks ago. I believe that this feeling, this fear and fascination, this reverence and awe for the Creator of the Universe—and the reluctance to speak the Name of God—all find its origin in the sacred story from the Book of Exodus for today. But before we consider the encounter that Moses had with a burning bush, I want to say a word about how most people—Christians, non-Christians, all kinds of people—play ‘fast and loose’ with the Name of God. You see, at the root of all curse words is a disrespect and a disregard for God and other people. My mother, who raised six boys, would not tolerate cussing (or even bad grammar, for that matter). She always said that cursing was clear evidence of a limited vocabulary. But it’s more than that; cursing, the use of foul language, vulgarity, and outrageous behavior—these things are in the same company with violence, abuse, telling lies, and stealing another person’s dignity. You can say that I am overreacting or exaggerating, that I’m being a goody-two-shoes or a mama’s boy—but I say that if you wallow in the mud you are going to get filthy. The People of God are meant to respect themselves and each other, to love God and their neighbors. And you can’t do that if you are spewing foul language and vile curses all the time. Okay. Now to the story. Moses was still a young man when he led his father-in-law’s sheep into the wilderness to Mount Horeb. There on the holy mountain, he had a direct experience of God. He saw a bush that was burning, but it was not consumed by the fire. And then he heard the voice of God, calling him by name: “Moses, Moses!” And Moses said, “Here am I.” This is how you respond to God when God calls you. “Here am I.” It happens over and over in the sacred stories. Then God said, “Do not come near; put off your shoes from your feet, for the place on which you are standing is holy ground.” God speaks and God says that Moses is in the presence of the Holy. Then God identifies himself to Moses. God said, “I am the God of your father, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob.” And Moses hid his face, for he was afraid to look at God. This was the right thing to do. You don’t look God in the face. You don’t say God’s Name. And you sure don’t use cuss words. The next part of the sacred story is truly fascinating. God spends a lot of time telling Moses about the history of his own people, who have been enslaved in Egypt for 400 years. Of course, Moses knows some of this already, but what he doesn’t even imagine is that God is going to send him, Moses, to deliver God’s People out of Egypt! “Who am I?” cries Moses. “You know me. I was left in the river as a baby. I can’t lead the people of Israel out of Egypt. They think I’m an Egyptian too.” But the God of the Universe doesn’t take ‘no’ for an answer. “I will be with you,” says God. “Say that to the People of Israel.” You can imagine what Moses is thinking now. “I will be with you. I will be with you?” No, he needs a name. Moses has to know the Name of God. Otherwise, he will have no power, no confidence, no authority, no reason for anyone to believe that he is actually on a mission from God. “What is your Name?” asks Moses. “Your secret Name, the Holy Name that no one dares to say out loud? What is the true Name of God that is Power, and Confidence, and Authority? God tells Moses this Name: God says, “I AM WHO I AM.” Which can also mean, “I WILL BE WHO I WILL BE.” This Name can also be written as YHWH, because there are no vowels in Hebrew. YHWH, which is the Name of God, and it is also the sound of the rushing wind. YHWH. The Name above all names. The Creator of the Universe. Finally, YHWH says, “This my Name for ever, and thus I am to be remembered throughout all generations.” I should say more about this part of the story, because it is so very important. The Name, I AM WHO I AM, isn’t a typical name. In fact, it isn’t like any name you’ve ever heard. I’m not even sure that I AM WHO I AM is a name! But who am I to argue with God? What does it mean for God to say, “I AM WHO I AM?” It almost sounds like God is saying, “Moses, it’s really none of your business. Just do what I’m telling you to do.” Or consider the Hebraic form of God’s Holy Name: YHWH. Four Hebrew consonants (no vowels) sometimes called the TETRAGRAMMATON, which literally means “four letters.” YHWH, which I said sounds like the rush of a mighty wind—as in the wind that blew outside Elijah’s cave, or the wind that blew over the waters of the Earth at creation. Maybe the Name of God is more like a sound than a meaning. Finally, let’s remember who we are talking about. God, the Creator of the Universe. God, whom we now know by three Names—Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. God, who is the Ground of Our Being, the Ultimate Reality, the Ancient of Days. This God we worship must be taken seriously. This God is not to be trifled with. I think Moses knew exactly what he was doing, because after this encounter with YHWH, Moses never said God’s Holy Name aloud to anyone, ever again. AMEN. 1154 words THIRD SUNDAY IN LENT March 24, 2019 1,191st Week as Priest 12th Week at Saint James

THE MONTANA JOURNAL No. 13—March 25, 2019 THE BIG HOLE BATTLEFIELD THE NEZ PERCE Indians were first mentioned in the Journals of Lewis & Clark as living west of the Rocky Mountains on the Columbia River plateau in 1805. They were a remarkable tribe, a native people who raised horses and actually developed the Appaloosa breed in the 18th century. The Nez Perce sought to live in freedom and in peace with the new Americans, but peace became increasingly difficult with the westward expansion, discoveries of gold, the setting apart of reservations, and the breaking of treaties and drastic limitations made in reservation lands. In the 1840s and 1850s, the Nez Perce were dislocated from their homes and the tribe scattered into smaller bands, many of which sought to flee from government control. They were on the run for years until 1877 when the United States Army under the command of Col. John Gibbon tracked down Chief Joseph’s tribe and killed 90 Indians—mostly old people, women, and children—in an early morning surprise attack at Big Hole Basin. The Army had losses of 70 soldiers killed or wounded. There was no victory that August day, only defeat on both sides. The Big Hole River runs through a long beautiful valley from Divide, Montana, into Beaverhead County where we live. It is a 150-mile tributary of the Jefferson River and today a favorite destination for camping, hiking, and fly fishing. Last Thursday after lunch, Leigh and I packed up her Pilot, loaded Nick in the back seat, and took off for Divide, about 35 miles north of Dillon. From there we drove to Wisdom, Montana (settled in 1884). We left melting snow at home but found plenty of fresh, heavy snow in the Big Hole Valley. Still, the roads were clear and we pressed on to the Big Hole Battlefield, another 60 miles southwest. We were the only folks at the visitors center. Leigh and I took our time and read the battle narratives. We discovered that the Nez Perce were fleeing to Canada, where they would be welcomed by other “First Peoples,” indigenous tribes who lived in safety there. Only a small fraction ever made it to Canada. After the final Nez Perce battle, just 40 miles from the Canadian border, the remaining Nez Perce were taken in chains to small reservations in Oregon and Washington State. Today there are seven Native American reservations in the entire state of Montana, including the Crow, Blackfeet, Chippewa, and Northern Cheyenne tribal nations. The Nez Perce is a federally recognized tribe, a sovereign nation of 3,500 people living on 770,000 acres in north-central Idaho. The history of the American Indian tribes is complicated and marked by centuries of betrayal, greed, and violence. Of course, there have been white people (including my older brother, Dr. Wick Warren, a social scientist for the Centers for Disease Control) who have worked to protect Indian rights and develop programs for children, the elderly, social services, domestic violence, drug and alcohol addiction, and more. But the problems vastly outweigh the help. In the summer of 1982, I went to the Lower Brule Lakota reservation in South Dakota to help build an Episcopal Church. I witnessed firsthand the overwhelming difficulties those people faced, something I will never forget. I don’t think that Meriwether Lewis and William Clark had any intention or inkling that their Journey of Discovery would eventually bring such tragedy to the Indian peoples of the Mountain West. They explored the Lousiana Territory from St. Louis, Missouri, to the Pacific Ocean and back, and never injured or killed a Indian in two years of travel into a vast and uncharted wilderness. But this great nation carries into the 21st century a deep wound and a dark failure to treat the Original Peoples of this land with dignity, honor, compassion, and justice. Lord have mercy. Christ has mercy. Lord have mercy. Wells+ (334) 332-3222 [email protected]

Dear Friends, I had originally planned to write about the difference in Spring, here in Montana and back in Alabama. But then I realized a few things: (1) we don't know if it is Spring here, despite the arrival of the Vernal Equinox; (2) there is still snow in shady places everywhere, and little evidence of the usual indications of Spring--budding trees, flowering plants, green grass; (3) we have predictions of snow this week and next, which doesn't sound like Spring to me; and (4) back in Alabama the azaleas are in bloom, the red bud trees and dogwoods are flowering, and the temperatures are in the 70s. Here is the only evidence of Spring I have to offer from Southwest Montana ... So I decided to write about our latest Adventure Day, a trip to the Big Hole Battlefield. Peace be with you, Wells+ (334) 332-3222 [email protected]

TAKE A LOOK at the new bulletin board at Saint James by the priest’s wife, Leigh Warren!

THE JOURNEY is the new name of our bi-monthly newsletter, in keeping with our 2019 church theme, "The Year of the Journey." We handed out copies of the March-April issue at church on Sunday. It you don't have a copy, let me know and I will be very happy to send you the Journey by email! Peace and Love, Wells+ (334) 332-3222 [email protected]

THE MONTANA JOURNAL No. 12—March 18, 2019 YOUR COW’S IN MY PASTURE WE LIVE IN A LOG HOME on 300 acres of range land about four miles south of Dillon, Montana. The place is called Beaverhead Meadows, and it is quite beautiful and quiet. The Beaverhead River runs along the western edge of the ranch and provides irrigation water for the hay fields and black Angus cattle. Over the past 12 weeks, the cows have been moving closer and closer to the Log Home. This weekend, they found their way into our yard, and they have been enjoying the ornamental greenery and the thick grass just below the snow. I don’t think they are going to leave our greener pastures anytime soon. I am continually amazed that we were able to lease this property for the first five months we are in Dillon. And even more pleasing, if that’s possible, we have found a small home in the historic neighborhood on S. Washington Street. The house is being restored by Geoff and Kay Roach, friends and members of Saint James, and it will be ready to move in by the end of May when we will leave Beaverhead Meadows. Downsizing is what Leigh and I have been doing time and time again over the past 20 years. Simplifying. Giving things away. Getting rid of what you don’t really love and really need. I know the little house on Washington Street doesn’t look like much now, but Leigh will make of it a beautiful home. She is working almost daily with Geoff to refit the living space for our needs—opening up rooms, choosing paint, installing two stained-glass windows and plantation shutters, new appliances, furniture, new porches front and back, a fireplace, and lots more. It will look very different from what you see here! The Log Home is an anomaly and a temporary one. We don’t need 3,000 square feet, and we sure don’t need 300 acres of range. It is wonderful, certainly, to be here for a season and a time. We love the expansive feeling of “home on the range,” and are very comfortable here. Bald eagles, hawks, great horned owls, big black ravens, migrating geese, the ubiquitous magpies, a murder of crows, black birds by the hundreds flying in their murmurations—these birds provide a daily circus of entertainment and new experiences for us. There are herds of white-tailed deer and black-tailed deer on the ranch. They are skittish and timid, and they will run away at the slightest reason. But they don’t run far, and they seem to know how remarkable and abundant life is at Beaverhead Meadows. Last week we saw a red fox hunting for field mice. We will miss our “working ranch” with its barns and irrigation systems, its tractors and corrals and sturdy fences. The land here is beautiful, and it is surrounded by even more beauty—the Rocky Mountains are on every side, strong and snowy and resolute. I think often of Lewis and Clark entering what is now Southwest Montana on their Journey of Discovery, and of the Shoshone woman Sacajawea who was their guide. She was the one who pointed out Beaverhead Mountain to Captain Clark and made it possible for the explorers to buy horses from the Shoshones. We will never forget our time here. But then, this paradise doesn’t belong to us. Years ago, when we lived in Fayette, our younger daughter Margaret was in eighth grade. She had a secret admirer, Chris Welsh, whose family farmed outside town. Long before cell phones and Facebook, kids called each other on the home telephone. And they were often skittish and timid, like the deer at Beaverhead Meadows. The phone rang and Leigh answered it. “Your cow’s in my pasture,” came the boy’s voice, country and quiet. “Hello, Chris, did you want to speak to Margaret?” asked Leigh, knowing who it was for. “Yes, ma’am,” said the boy, sheepishly. You can’t get anything by Leigh Warren. Peace and blessings to everyone, Wells+

THE MONTANA JOURNAL No. 11—March 11, 2019 IT’S A CHURCH DOG’S LIFE IT SEEMS TO ME that Nick has found a new church to call his own, and the members of the congregation at Saint James in Dillon have given him the Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval. But then, to be perfectly honest and impartial about it, Nick is a very easy dog to have around. Border Collies don’t bark unless wolves or coyotes are near, and Nick typically operates in silent mode. Also, Nick is polite and well-mannered, even for an Episcopal dog. Since he has been trained in three levels of obedience, and he is certified as an Emotional Support Animal, he has all the official credentials you could ask for. It’s a good life, being a Church Dog, and he certainly has the job experience, too. Twelve consecutive years on the job at St. Dunstan’s in Auburn, followed by his new post since January 2019 here in Dillon, Montana. Nick has expanded his role recently; in the beginning here, he kept at Leigh’s side during the service and afterwards in the Guild Hall. Now he comes up into the chancel during my sermon and sits looking at the congregation while I preach. Then yesterday, for the First Sunday in Lent, while I was getting all serious and traditional with the language of Rite One and the Revised Standard Version of the Bible, Nick lay down in front of the holy table—and he stayed there throughout the Eucharistic Prayer. Our deacon, Steve DeHart, is quite comfortable around Nick—and I’m always better when he is close by. My original thought about emotional support came when the idea finally dawned on me that parishioners and folks stopping by would be comforted and calmed by the presence of this gentle friend. But the truth is that I’m the one who benefits regularly and deeply by the Priest’s Best Friend. Winter continues in Southwest Montana in full force. Of course, the old timers say we have three seasons here—July, August, and Winter. Still, I have to say that I’m fine with snow and okay with very cold temperatures. (At least down to about 15F below zero.) And a day with the thermometer in the 20s and blue sky is almost perfect. Leigh and I were on the Echo Show today with Jenny and our grandchildren. Spring has sprung big time in east Alabama, and the pollen is already out with a vengeance. Our pollen numbers are between 0-2, whereas Auburn’s are in the 8-10 range! We are expecting more snow on Wednesday, so it may be a while before we see flowers and green grass. The vineyard photograph is one I didn’t take, obviously, but it’s here for a reason. Jesus spoke of a difficulty I’m faced with, and probably every new priest and pastor can identify. Jesus said, “You don't tear a piece off a new coat to patch up an old coat. If you do, you will have torn the new coat, and the piece of new cloth will not match the old. Nor do you pour new wine into used wineskins, because the new wine will burst the skins, the wine will pour out, and the skins will be ruined. Instead, new wine must be poured into fresh wineskins!” (I chose the Good News Translation because it is so direct and unmistakable.) It’s difficult to come to a new place—or for that matter, to return to an old and familiar place if you’ve been away for a while. Jesus discovered this when he went home to Nazareth for the first time in many years. This is precisely why newly-retired clergy are encouraged to find another church to attend. In the Episcopal Church, we often hear, “But we've always done it this way." But it’s often not helpful—to the priest or the parish. Better by far to put on a brand-new coat and not try to patch the old one. Better by far not to put new wine into old wine skins. Change is inevitable and often very good. “Things will be different,” said Bishop Kee Sloan when I decided to retire last year. “But ministry will continue.” I grieved leaving St. Dunstan’s and Auburn, the people and the places, but it was both necessary and wise to do so. I have wonderful memories of the twenty years that Leigh and I were there. Together we had such a full and meaningful ministry to students, young adults, faculty and staff members, children, and friends. The university community was a marvelous and exciting place to do the Lord’s work. (And then I always add “with persecutions,” because that’s what Jesus said about blessings, and because we experienced some of that first hand. So we are here in Montana and very glad to be. We love and miss all of you, and we cherish our electronic correspondence and our phone calls with you. But we are here to stay for a good while yet. We have Montana driver’s licenses and Montana license plates on our vehicles. And recently I moved my “Letters Dimissory” to the Diocese of Montana. New wine goes in new wine skins. Peace and blessings to everyone, Wells+

FOR THE THIRD SUNDAY IN LENT, we will hear the story of Moses and the Burning Bush. and my sermon will be about the Name of God. See you Sunday at 10 am. Peace, Wells+

HOLY BAPTISM is a Sacrament in the Episcopal Church, an outward and visible sign of God’s inward and spiritual grace.

NEW WINE No one patches up an old coat with a piece of new cloth, for the new patch will shrink and make an even bigger hole in the coat. Nor does anyone pour new wine into used wineskins, for the skins will burst, the wine will pour out, and the skins will be ruined. Instead, new wine is poured into fresh wineskins, and both will keep in good condition. Matthew 9:16-17

On our journey … from Father Wells.

Join us Christmas Eve for a Candlelight Service at 7:30 pm or Christmas morning for a Festival Eucharist 10:00 am. St. James Episcopal Church, Dillon, MT

Join us for Easter worship. Great Vigil of Easter, Saturday 7 pm; Easter morning 10:00 am.

Please join us for one of our Easter services. Saturday at 7:00 pm the Easter Vigil; Sunday 10:00 am for a Festival Easter Eucharist.

An invitation to Easter