One of the thing that distinguishes humans from other animals is the way in which we process and use memory. There is evidence that other animals have a certain capacity for memory. A pet, for example, remembers and recognizes a family member and demonstrates that memory when that person returns after an absence. We humans, however, appear to be unique in our capacity to ruminate and draw meanings from our memories.

It is not just that we are able to process our memories. We need to do so in order to have successful and meaningful lives. That kind of deep processing of memory is a large part of my vocation. Not only do I work with my personal memories, but also with the collective memories of our people. Each week I take ancient stories of our people - ones that we have held and treasured for many generations - and use them to draw meaning from the events of contemporary life. A sermon is much more than expressing my opinion. It is an honest attempt to help worshipers see their lives in the context of the bigger picture of the story of our people. We are part of something much larger than a single life. Our lives take place in the context of the movement of many generations of people throughout a long span of history.

The English language has a wonderful word for this process: reflection. The word has two distinct, but related, meanings. To reflect is to throw back energy without absorbing it. When light rays hit a smooth surface they are thrown back resulting in the duplication of the image. We notice such images each day when we look in a mirror. I am especially aware of reflections when I paddle. When the lake is calm, it seems as if the trees, hills, sky and other features of the surrounding countryside are all reproduced on the surface of the lake. It is a source of unending fascination for me. This capacity to throw back energy occurs with other forms of energy as well as light. Energy and heat can also be reflected. We use smooth surfaces to direct heat into our homes and sound also bounces off of hard and smooth surfaces. Both of those phenomena are also apparent at the lake on a calm day. In the early morning on a windless day I can feel the warmth of the sun directly from the air, but I also will notice the warmth reflecting from the water’s surface. And sound takes on a different quality as it travels across the surface of the lake. Often I can hear sounds from the other side of the lake that I would not be able to hear were it not for the reflective qualities of the water. I’ve noticed a single red-winged blackbird in the rushes of the far side of the lake that is too distant for me to see, but whose sound travels clearly to me across the lake.

My canoe is a vehicle not just for this optical phenomena. It also is a way for me to separate myself temporary from the pressures of everyday living. I paddle away from the cell phone, the constant communication of email and text messages and voice mail and other interruptions. I allow my mind to remember what it will and follow lines of thinking that I might not otherwise pursue. In the midst of the busy flow of life, it is essential to allow time to think deeply, to consider, review and contemplate.

Reflecting on the events of life is not just a matter of recall - it is a process of discovering the meaning in those events and lifting up those meanings for others to see. In graduate school, where we were open in our love if big words, we studied the process of phenomenology - the study of the structures of consciousness. Our question was, “How to lived experiences become deeply held meanings?” That process is a mental process. We think about the experiences that we have had.

The first step in the process is simply telling the story. Recalling the details of the experience with the feelings intact is a learned process. Our forebears used to tell the stories over and over again as they sat around a fire in the evening. Sometimes the stories were repeated so often that many generations could tell the same story in exactly the same words.

Once the story is recalled and told it needs to be connected with other stories. We look for patterns in the experiences of life that are not only reflective, but also predictive. When I touch a hot surface, it causes pain. If I do this often enough, I will learn not to touch the hot surface - I will be able to anticipate what is going to happen because I have processed previous experiences. We process both pleasant and unpleasant sensations and experiences.

Once I have sorted my experiences into groups and patterns, I look to the wider stories and experiences of our people to see how my personal experiences fit into the whole of human experience. Knowing what causes me pain, for example, can enable me to feel empathy when another experiences pain. I can begin to understand that my actions and decisions affect others.

Humans have the capacity to take those experiences even a step farther and draw from them artistic expressions. We reflect the experiences of our lives in music and picture and sculpture and all sorts of other artistic media.

A canoe is a tangible art object crafted out of the combined experiences of generations of humans who want to travel over the surface of the water. The shape of canoes has evolved gradually in response to the needs and experiences of people over many generations. The Wee Lassie canoe I paddled yesterday is a design that traces its shape to the 19th century designer Henry Rushton. While Rushton came up with this particular shape, he did not start from scratch. Greenland and Inuit boats, designed for easy paddling in a an upright position had been around for hundreds, perhaps even thousands of years. Those shapes combined with traditional North American bark canoes to produce an elegant craft. That shape, in turn, has been reproduced using modern tools and materials to form the lightweight boat. My boat was built from plans and experiences of others. It reflects a long heritage.

We all need time for reflection. And a small canoe is a perfect vehicle for such a journey.

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