Archives for March 2012

A Lenten Journey: Climbing to the Cross – Day TWELVE

March 6, 2012 By

Mark 3:19b-35, The Message:

Jesus came home and, as usual, a crowd gathered—so many making demands on him that there wasn’t even time to eat. His friends heard what was going on and went to rescue him, by force if necessary. They suspected he was getting carried away with himself.
The religion scholars from Jerusalem came down spreading rumors that he was working black magic, using devil tricks to impress them with spiritual power. Jesus confronted their slander with a story: “Does it make sense to send a devil to catch a devil, to use Satan to get rid of Satan? A constantly squabbling family disintegrates. If Satan were fighting Satan, there soon wouldn’t be any Satan left. Do you think it’s possible in broad daylight to enter the house of an awake, able-bodied man, and walk off with his possessions unless you tie him up first? Tie him up, though, and you can clean him out. 
“Listen to this carefully. I’m warning you. There’s nothing done or said that can’t be forgiven. But if you persist in your slanders against God’s Holy Spirit, you are repudiating the very One who forgives, sawing off the branch on which you’re sitting, severing by your own perversity all connection with the One who forgives.” He gave this warning because they were accusing him of being in league with Evil. 
Just then his mother and brothers showed up. Standing outside, they relayed a message that they wanted a word with him. He was surrounded by the crowd when he was given the message, “Your mother and brothers and sisters are outside looking for you.” 
Jesus responded, “Who do you think are my mother and brothers?” Looking around, taking in everyone seated around him, he said, “Right here, right in front of you—my mother and my brothers. Obedience is thicker than blood. The person who obeys God’s will is my brother and sister and mother.” 
_______
He’s getting under their skin.
The crowds are bigger each day,
     the authority with which he speaks and acts is notable,
          his obvious spiritual power has everyone’s knickers in a twist.
His friends are sure he’s either crazy or full of himself.
His enemies accuse him of partnering with the Dark Side.
His mother and brothers are demanding equal time.
He’s definitely astounding, mystifying, frustrating – perhaps even frightening – the very ones he should be closest to: his cronies, the religious hierarchy, his family.
And he cares not.one.whit.
Not one.
And that is perhaps the most astounding thing of all: 
     here is a man who is so confident and so centered 
     that he moves ahead with his own agenda, 
          despite the opinions, concerns and criticism of others.
I’m not sure I’ve ever in my life had a thought, performed a deed, said a word that I didn’t at some point think: “What will they think of me?” For me, it’s almost instinctual to care about the opinions of others.
Not so for Jesus.
Not so at all.
He sidesteps the request of his friends to rein it in.
He punctures the rhetorical bubble of the religious leaders.
He chooses to declare his own family-in-the-making rather 
     than relinquish himself or his ministry in order to soothe
     the troubled (embarrassed?) hearts and minds of those
     related to him blood.
In these three small vignettes, Jesus models for us 
     what it looks like 
          to live so fully in the center of God’s will, 
               so closely aligned with the Spirit,
that the opinions of others fall into their proper place. 

He does offer a warning in the midst of these stories – a warning to those who would falsely accuse him of consorting with the enemy. 
And it is in that warning that we begin to see how he does what he does – both the miraculous displays of power and the confident refusal to be swayed from his mission:

The very Spirit of God is at work in him.

The very Spirit of God.

_______

Lord Jesus, I stand in awe before you today, recognizing how much you have to teach me about living rightly. Help me to know, way down deep in the crevices of my soul, that your Spirit – the same Spirit that filled you – is alive and well and wanting to steady me, to counsel me in the doing of your word, in the living of a Jesus life. Amen and amen.

Click here for day one of this series and an explanation of what it’s all about.
 

Filed Under: biblical reflection, Lenten Journey, Wonderings in the Word

A Lenten Journey: Climbing to Calvary – Day ELEVEN

March 5, 2012 By
Psalm 57, Today’s New International Version
For the director of music. To the tune of “Do Not Destroy.” Of David. A miktam. When he had fled from Saul into the cave.
Have mercy on me, my God, have mercy on me,
   for in you I take refuge.
I will take refuge in the shadow of your wings
   until the disaster has passed.
I cry out to God Most High,
   to God, who vindicates me. 
He sends from heaven and saves me,
   rebuking those who hotly pursue me—
   God sends forth his love and his faithfulness.
 
I am in the midst of lions;
   I am forced to dwell among man-eating beasts,
whose teeth are spears and arrows,
   whose tongues are sharp swords.
 
Be exalted, O God, above the heavens;
   let your glory be over all the earth.
 
They spread a net for my feet—
   I was bowed down in distress.
They dug a pit in my path—
   but they have fallen into it themselves.
 
My heart, O God, is steadfast,
   my heart is steadfast;
   I will sing and make music. 
Awake, my soul!
   Awake, harp and lyre!
   I will awaken the dawn.
 
I will praise you, Lord, among the nations;
   I will sing of you among the peoples. 
For great is your love, reaching to the heavens;
   your faithfulness reaches to the skies.
 
Be exalted, O God, above the heavens;
   let your glory be over all the earth.
_______
David is a singer – first, last and always.
It seems singing is what he was made to do.
No matter what life throws in his path,
the man sings.
He sings of joy.
He sings of fear.
He sings of sorrow.
He sings of sin.
He sings.
Sometimes he sings about himself – how frazzled he feels, how surrounded, even buried by the difficulties of his life.
Sometimes he bluntly sings of his own good character, his stalwart loyalty, his fearsome warrior skills.

Sometimes he sings about the physical enemies who frighten, pursue and threaten him.

But all the time, he sings about God.
He cries out to God for mercy.
He declares the outrageous saving grace 
of the God he communes with, 
     the God he calls to, 
     the God he worships.
And this particular song swings from high to low and back again, containing little bits of all of the above.
And it is beautiful, isn’t it? Filled with sharp juxtapositions of his own fears and the faithfulness of the God who saves him.

But the transition that just lifts my heart today, that offers encouragement and hope and challenge is this one:
I am in the midst of lions;
   I am forced to dwell among man-eating beasts,
whose teeth are spears and arrows,
   whose tongues are sharp swords.
 
Be exalted, O God, above the heavens;
   let your glory be over all the earth.
Because I’ve been there, haven’t you?
     In the midst of strange beasts, with sharp teeth and sharper tongues. 
     Feeling as though I’m being eaten alive by 
          the demands of others, 
          the demands of my over-busy life, 
          the demands of life-in-general.
     Feeling surrounded, 
          overwhelmed, 
               heavy-laden, 
                    in defensive mode, 
                         crouching in the corner,
too terrified to peek out and see if those snarling creatures are still there, 
     ready to pounce. 
But when I find myself there, 
     facing the hot breath and growling gutturals of life –
I want to do what David does.
I want to sing a song of remembrance,
     a song of exaltation,
          a song of exuberant praise,
acknowledging that GOD is God – 
     bigger than my fears,
     bigger than any beasts that may choose to come and lurk in my parlor,
     bigger than life-in-general.
Can I hear an ‘amen?’
_______
Good and Great God, Maker of the Universe and Savior of the World – help me to sing with your servant, David. To sing honestly when I’m feeling afraid. To sing expectantly when I’m facing an uncertain future, to sing resoundingly when I remember Who You are. O, Praise your name forever!


Click here for day one of this series and an explanation of what it’s all about.

As has happened many times in our long relationship, my husband came through the bedroom where I was busily writing or reading and said, “You need to come outside and take a look at this – right now!” And there was this enormous rainbow, just shimmering out there. I grabbed my camera quickly, not looking at the lens first and snapped about a dozen pictures. By the time I finished snapping, the bow was gone. Too bad I didn’t wipe that filter off first! So, I’m sorry about the spots here and there – but I think  you get the size and brightness of this beautiful reminder of beauty in the midst of stormy weather. Somehow fitting for this psalm.
 





Filed Under: biblical reflection, Lenten Journey, Wonderings in the Word

Losing a Mentor: A Re-Post Plus a Tribute

March 4, 2012 By
I am re-posting this one from last January,
in honor of Abbot David Geraets,
my spiritual director and friend,
who died on Friday morning.

These are words I wrote to a few friends earlier today about my response to receiving this sad news:
My mentor died on Friday. He was 77 years old – only 10 years older than I am – 
and he’d battled a number of ailments this past year. 
But still…I didn’t think he would DIE.

We all die. 

I know this in my head. 
I even know it in my heart, 
as we’ve lost a lot of dear ones in the last 10 years. 
Yet each time I get a phone call like the one I got on Friday afternoon, I am bereft. Like part of me has been sliced with a very sharp blade 
and all that pours out are tears.

I took my usual evening walk on Friday, walking circles around our large driveway parking area. I’ve been learning to pray while I walk this past year – many fewer words, lots more images. But what I found myself doing on Friday was simply saying the name of Jesus, over and over and over again.

And here is why: a friend had posted a very old video on YouTube. A video of the mentor I had just lost. This clip, filmed in 1986, was an interview with Abbot David (who, at that time, led a much larger community in New Mexico) by a nun named Mother Elizabeth. Now may I just add, with a repentant heart and spirit, that if I had seen this video when it was filmed 26 years ago, I would have either switched it off immediately, or watched it with a sort of gleeful feeling of superiority to those ‘weirdos’ in the habits and collars. I’m ashamed and embarrassed to admit that, but it’s the hard truth.


I watched all 30 minutes of that grainy old video, marveling at the sweetness in David’s face, the kindness of his words and the truth of his life. I met with him monthly for the last three years, receiving spiritual direction in the form of dream interpretation. He was an expert at that and also at encouragement and gentle prayer. In this video, he suggested praying the Jesus prayer (which has been a favorite prayer practice of mine for about ten years) or just simply saying the name of Jesus over and over for 20 or 30 minutes. I have discovered that following Abbot David’s advice is a very helpful thing. (I wrote a post about the benefits of one piece of that advice at the end of January.)

So on that first afternoon after this dear man’s death, that’s what I did when I walked. I cannot put into words how intensely moving it was for me, in these initial hours of grief, to just say the Name over and over and over again. And I wept my way through a 45 minute time of walking, praying, remembering, celebrating. I will never again feel the dear Abbot’s fingers make the sign of the cross on my bent forehead at the end of our hour together. I will not be blessed by his hand when I receive my certificate in spiritual direction next August. I will not engage with him in friendly, loving conversation.

And that is a huge, huge loss to me.

And to so many.

Thank you Abbot David Geraets for your loving commitment to Jesus, for your years of kindness, wisdom and gentle correction, for your heart as big as the sky above the ranch you and the brothers live(d) in out in the back country of San Luis Obispo.

I will be grateful for your presence in my life during these pivotal years in mine until the day I die.

And then I will hug you fiercely.

SLO stands for San Luis Obispo, a town 115 miles north of my home. 
This was our late-lunch view today, as we traveled home again.
 
One day each month,
I take a road trip.
This particular road trip is not like 
the other ones I take.
I’m not going to take care of my mother.
I’m not going to enjoy my children and my grandchildren.
I’m not going on vacation.
Strike that.
I am going on a vacation, of sorts.
I am vacating the usual rhythm of my days 
to embrace a different one.
And I find that I am hungry for re-creation as I travel.
I am eager to be addressed as…
me.
Not as wife/mother/grandmother/daughter/
pastor/teacher/friend.
Just me.
Child of God.
Stumbling follower of Jesus.
Seeker after wisdom.
And this is where I go.
A strange looking monastery,
one that used to be the ‘dream house’
of a retired dentist,
but was bought by some monks 
from New Mexico to be their community home. 
The monastery is the long white, 
red-tiled house to the left in this shot. 
To the right of the drive, is the chapel & bookshop
with a couple of additional bedrooms.
To the left of the drive, below the monastery itself,
is the home of Connie, the oblate who lives on the premises
and assists the brothers.
There are only five or six of them now,
praying the hours,
assisting the people of a dozen parishes
with healing prayer, special masses and spiritual direction.
This is where I meet my spiritual director every month.
The sign says it all:
And this is the view from that house, 
in the springtime,
when all the hills are green and the sky is blue.
And this is the man I meet with in that house:
Abbott David.
Spiritual Father to this small band,
and an acclaimed leader in the 
charismatic renewal movement 
 of the Roman Catholic Church.
He is a remarkable man, gifted and humble.
Did I ever tell you how we met?
Now, that’s a great story.
“Once upon a time, there was a tired pastor,
full to overflowing with the needs of her congregation, 
the struggles in her family.
She had tried direction a couple of times,
with mixed results.
“Not a good fit,” was the diagnosis,
whatever that means.
For her, it felt like failure.
And she is not a fan of failure.

So she began to pray about it,
to search for someone.
She even went online, used Google
and found a monastery website.
Not a fancy, bells-and-whistles kind of place,
that website.
And the monastery featured there was over 100 miles away.
But something caught her eye,
her spirit.
 And email responses were invited.
So she sent off a note.
“Is there anyone there interested and available
to offer direction to a tired
female pastor,
one who needs listening ears,
wise words,
some guidance along the way?”
That was in July of 2007.

Nothing came back.
Sigh.

So, she got on with life,
a life that was feeling a bit overwhelming
about then.
And she forgot all about that note.

One early morning, in September of the following year,
FOURTEEN MONTHS
after her initial inquiry,
her cell phone rang.
Puzzled at the early hour, she picked it up.
“Abbott David here,” a strong, friendly voice declared.
“You wrote about spiritual direction?”

And she burst into laughter.
“Yes,” she said. “I did. Over a year ago!“

“Really?” came the response. 
“Because I just received this yesterday.
Would you like to meet with me and see if this
might be what you’re looking for?”
They set a date for one week later,
she drove up the 101, took the country road out to 
his place and sat,
absolutely fascinated and astounded as he told
her his story.
Raised on a farm in Wisconsin,
paid his way through college by playing
trumpet in a dance band,
became a priest,
sent by his order to
study in Rome,
multi-lingual,
specialist in Jungian psychology
and dream analysis.
“If you work with me, you’ll keep a dream journal.
And that’s what we’ll talk through each month.”

She was hooked – line, sinker, bobble, lure – 
the whole kit and caboodle.
“Thank you, Jesus,” she cried to the heavens as she headed south again 
at the end of the hour.

Before their next visit,
there was a tragic death in her immediate family.
And before the following visit,
there was a ferocious wildfire in her community,
stripping lifetime memories from many in her congregation.
Within the first year, she herself landed in the hospital, was forced to make a major shift in her own training
program to become a director herself,
and by the second year, she was enrolled in the Abbott’s school for spiritual direction certification.
Not sure that she lived happily ever after,
but deeper ever after? That would be a big ‘yes.'”

Now I would call that whole tale
a God-thing.
My friend Jennifer might call it “God-Bumps” or a “God-Incidence.”
All I can tell you is that my entire spiritual journey
took a decisive turn upward from the moment
I heard that voice on the phone:
“Abbot David here. You wrote….?”
Abbott David leading mass in the monastery chapel.
Today, I had only one dream for the month.
Of my own, that is.
I also shared a tricky one from someone I am directing.
Somehow, this kind, brilliant man
(who has been seriously ill this year)
wove those two together, asked me some penetrating
questions, and helped me think about myself
in some new ways.
“You’ve spent your whole life relying on your left brain, Diana, your intellect. 
It’s time to learn to trust your gut, your intuition. 
You need to spend long stretches of time just sitting and looking at the ocean.
Do that long enough so that eventually, you find yourself on the other side of the picture – you’ll be the ocean, looking back at you. 
And take a look at what you see when that happens.
I think you’ll like what you find.
Be still long enough to let the beauty in,
to let God in,
to shift inside from reason to intuition.
Learn to trust that,
to know that God meets you there, too.
This is the gift of aging, Diana.
There is gift in all of life.”
I sure hope he’s right.
I’m counting on it. 
Stopping at Costco on our way home this evening,
I looked up from loading the bags into the back of the car and saw this. 
My gut said, “Grab that camera, even if it is the little one, 
even if the picture won’t be sharp.”
So I did.
The gift of the present moment.
Right brain all the way. 
Joining with Jennifer and her “God-Bumps” meme and with Ann and her Walk with Him Wednesday invite.  Even though this is way too long – two posts in one, actually – I’m also joining with a few friends with very different invitations – not because this post in any way ‘matches’ with most of them, but because it’s a big piece of my heart right now and I’d like them to know.
 Bonnie & the two Laura’s and Michelle, too:

On In Around button

 

Filed Under: death, friendship. personal journey, God's gifts, memoir, prayer, Spiritual Direction

A Lenten Journey: Climbing to the Cross – SECOND Sunday

March 4, 2012 By

Romans 4:13-25 – The Message
That famous promise God gave Abraham—that he and his children would possess the earth—was not given because of something Abraham did or would do. It was based on God’s decision to put everything together for him, which Abraham then entered when he believed. If those who get what God gives them only get it by doing everything they are told to do and filling out all the right forms properly signed, that eliminates personal trust completely and turns the promise into an ironclad contract! That’s not a holy promise; that’s a business deal. A contract drawn up by a hard-nosed lawyer and with plenty of fine print only makes sure that you will never be able to collect. But if there is no contract in the first place, simply a promise—and God’s promise at that—you can’t break it.
 
This is why the fulfillment of God’s promise depends entirely on trusting God and his way, and then simply embracing him and what he does. God’s promise arrives as pure gift. That’s the only way everyone can be sure to get in on it, those who keep the religious traditions and those who have never heard of them. For Abraham is father of us all. He is not our racial father—that’s reading the story backward. He is our faith father.
 
We call Abraham “father” not because he got God’s attention by living like a saint, but because God made something out of Abraham when he was a nobody. Isn’t that what we’ve always read in Scripture, God saying to Abraham, “I set you up as father of many peoples”? Abraham was first named “father” and then became a father because he dared to trust God to do what only God could do: raise the dead to life, with a word make something out of nothing. When everything was hopeless, Abraham believed anyway, deciding to live not on the basis of what he saw he couldn’t do but on what God said he would do. And so he was made father of a multitude of peoples. God himself said to him, “You’re going to have a big family, Abraham!”
 
Abraham didn’t focus on his own impotence and say, “It’s hopeless. This hundred-year-old body could never father a child.” Nor did he survey Sarah’s decades of infertility and give up. He didn’t tiptoe around God’s promise asking cautiously skeptical questions. He plunged into the promise and came up strong, ready for God, sure that God would make good on what he had said. That’s why it is said, “Abraham was declared fit before God by trusting God to set him right.” But it’s not just Abraham; it’s also us! The same thing gets said about us when we embrace and believe the One who brought Jesus to life when the conditions were equally hopeless. The sacrificed Jesus made us fit for God, set us right with God.
_______ 

If you have made it through this LONG stretch of Romans, I salute you. If you haven’t, I urge you to go back, spend an extra 3-4 minutes and read it All.The.Way.Down.

It is great stuff. 
I love what Peterson has done with these 15 verses, even though he used a whole lot more words than any other translation I checked! 
He has taken some dense theology, in which Paul is working through a foundational Old Testament text, and he has made it comprehensible and current. 
Nice work. Really nice.
So I took a little bit of artistic license and decided to try and do the same thing with today’s photo-for-reflection. See if you can follow my convoluted choice.
Look specifically at that last paragraph, the one with these words:
“He didn’t tiptoe around God’s promise asking cautiously skeptical questions. He plunged into the promise and came up strong, ready for God, sure that God would make good on what he had said. That’s why it is said, “Abraham was declared fit before God by trusting God to set him right.” But it’s not just Abraham; it’s also us! The same thing gets said about us when we embrace and believe the One who brought Jesus to life when the conditions were equally hopeless. The sacrificed Jesus made us fit for God, set us right with God.“

With this paragraph, Peterson re-states the story of Abraham and Sarah, and that unbelievable promise made to them by God – that they would father/mother many nations, even though they were old – and as the words starkly remind us – ‘impotent and infertile.’ 

Every other Bible you can find will choose to use a big word like ‘righteousness’ or ‘justification’ where Peterson has chosen the small word, ‘fit.’ 

And it is a perfect word. Absolutely perfect. 
Because of the promises of God, 
and the work of Jesus on the cross and out the tomb,  
we are made fit to be with God. 
Because of our Elder Brother, 
we are welcomed into the heavenly places, from the get-go.

And like Abraham, we are encouraged not to simply be onlookers to this promise of fitness. No. 
     We are encouraged   
          to ‘plunge into the promise,’ 
          to ‘come up strong,’  
          to ‘trust that God will make us right.’

The fitness comes to us as a gift of grace; 
it becomes fully ours when we step into it and own it.

The picture I chose for today is of two brothers – a little brother and an elder one. The littler one wanted to play superheroes; the bigger brother bent down and joined him in the game – and they had a grand time on that Hawaiian beach four summers ago.

And here’s where you have to bear with me just a bit, 
for a slightly stretched analogy…
Our Elder Brother has joined us in the game of life.
And even though we’ll never be the Superhero he is, 
we are invited to apprentice, 
     to learn, 
     to trust,
and ultimately, 
     to put on that cape and FLY. 
Wanna join in?
_______

O Jesus, I know this is WAY over-simplified, but somehow it helps me to see this beautiful truth of ours put into this everyday language. And remembering the sweetness of that big brother that day in 2008 helps me to picture the sweetness of your love for us. It’s not a game – this much I’ve learned the hard way – but it is an adventure. I thank you for making me fit enough to join you in it.

Click here for day one of this series and an explanation of what it’s all about.



Filed Under: biblical reflection, Lenten Journey, Wonderings in the Word

Standing on Tiptoe

March 4, 2012 By

“In my opinion whatever we may have to go through now is less than nothing compared with the magnificent future God has planned for us. 
The whole creation is on tiptoe 
to see the wonderful sight 
of the [children] of God coming into their own.”
Romans 8:18 – JB Phillips paraphrase
“Learning sleeps and snores in libraries, 
but wisdom is everywhere, wide awake, on tiptoe.”
-Josh Billings

 
1. Camano Island, WA – while on retreat with 4 other women pastors, 2007
2. Our youngest granddaughter on her 2nd birthday, scampering across the park to the slide.
3. My own feet as I sat in the car, ‘looking long’ at the ocean. This sitting still thing is becoming a habit, 
hopefully one that leads to increased wisdom. :>)
Joining tonight with Sandy at “Still Saturday” and Deidra at “Sunday,”
two weekly invitations to encourage quieting our words
and reflecting on God’s beauty revealed in this world and our lives.
Filed Under: biblical reflection, photography

A Lenten Journey: Climbing to the Cross – Day TEN

March 3, 2012 By

 Psalm 139 – Today’s New International Version
  
You have searched me, LORD, and you know me.  You know when I sit and when I rise;
   you perceive my thoughts from afar.  
You discern my going out and my lying down;
   you are familiar with all my ways.  
Before a word is on my tongue
   you, LORD, know it completely.  
You hem me in behind and before,
   and you lay your hand upon me.  
Such knowledge is too wonderful for me,
   too lofty for me to attain.
 
Where can I go from your Spirit?
   Where can I flee from your presence?  
If I go up to the heavens, you are there;
   if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.  
If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
   if I settle on the far side of the sea, 
even there your hand will guide me,
   your right hand will hold me fast.  
If I say, “Surely the darkness will hide me
   and the light become night around me,”  
even the darkness will not be dark to you;
   the night will shine like the day,
   for darkness is as light to you.
 
For you created my inmost being;
   you knit me together in my mother’s womb.  
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
   your works are wonderful,
   I know that full well.  
My frame was not hidden from you
   when I was made in the secret place.
When I was woven together in the depths of the earth, your eyes saw my unformed body.
All the days ordained for me
   were written in your book
   before one of them came to be.  
How precious to me are your thoughts, God!
   How vast is the sum of them!  
Were I to count them,
   they would outnumber the grains of sand—
   when I awake, I am still with you.
 
If only you, God, would slay the wicked!
   Away from me, you who are bloodthirsty!  
They speak of you with evil intent;
   your adversaries misuse your name.  
Do I not hate those who hate you, LORD,
   and abhor those who are in rebellion against you?  
I have nothing but hatred for them;
   I count them my enemies.  
Search me, O God, and know my heart;
   test me and know my anxious thoughts.  
See if there is any offensive way in me,
   and lead me in the way everlasting.

_______

“Search me, O God, and know my heart…” 

Have you ever wondered why this plaintive prayer is part of this particular psalm?

In earlier verses, some beautiful singing has been going on – songs of the everywhere-God, the God-from-whom-we-cannot-escape.

If the psalmist is right – and hundreds of years of Christian theology affirm that he/she is exactly right – then there is nowhere that this singer can go where God is not already present. 

NOwhere.
There is no way to be outside of the presence of God.

Think about that for a moment. 

The only other person in the universe from whom you can never be separated is…
     yourself. 

And we all know how often we wish we could run the heck somewhere – anywhere! – from ourselves, don’t we? 

Yet the spiritual teachers I’ve been studying in the last few years all say something like this: 
     the more we know ourselves, the more we know God;
     the closer we get to the center of who we are, 
     the closer we come to God. 

Which is not to say that we are God. 

It is to say that doing the soul-searching work of introspection, really understanding who we are, 
     how we’re wired, 
     where the shadows are and 
     where the light shines brightly – 
this is the work that brings us closest to the heart of God. 

Because God is the one who drew up the original blueprint, you see. 

God is the one who sees us as we are – and as we could be. 

And God is the one who can call forth from us 
     our very best, very brightest, very truest self. 

So… 

When I join the psalmist in asking God to search and know me, 
     I am doing the best work there is. 

Because out of that work, the river of life flows from me to others. 

Out of that work, 
out of that searching, 
     the broken places in me can widen just enough 
     to let the light of Christ shine out into the everyday world God has asked me to inhabit. 

So, then, this small prayer – the one that feels almost like an add-on – well, it’s a really big one to pray, isn’t it? 

“Search me, O God. Test me and know my anxious thoughts. See if there is any offensive way in me and lead me in the way everlasting.”

_______

So, with a deep intake of breath, I do pray that prayer, Lord. Help me to do the work – the hard, sometimes slogging and oh-so-slow work – of knowing myself and knowing You. May I rejoice in the assurance of your everywhere-Self; may I know the joy of your salvation and radiate that joy wherever I go.

Click here for day one of this series and an explanation of what it’s all about. 

Filed Under: biblical reflection, Lenten Journey, Wonderings in the Word

The Good Ache: a Photographic Reflection

March 2, 2012 By
 Overlooking the Saanich Inlet on Vancouver Island, August 2007
Aches and pains.
Yes, I’ve got a few.
Part of the aging process, or so they tell me.
Knees that creak,
heels that are tender,
hips that remind me they’re there, working away.
And heartache?
Yes, I’ve known a bit here and there,
some of it permanent.
You never stop missing those you love.
But there is another ache that I live with,
day in and day out,
from sun up right through my dream life.
And that ache is a wonderful thing.
An ache buried deep within me
at the hand of my Creator –
an ache for…
home,
love,
beauty.
Yes – beauty.
and I’ve kept thinking about it ever since.
Turning a corner and finding…
a sunset,
a sunrise,
a cooing baby,
a soaring mountain range,
a field of wildflowers,
a couple in love,
the coltish antics of middle-schoolers,
leaping across a lawn,
the creative genius of a fine artist,
a musician,
a sculptor,
anything and everything
that makes that chord inside ring and resound.
Anything and everything that sings to that yearning,
that yearning for every single reflection I can find
of the beauty of God.
STOP
Some words in response to Lisa-Jo’s prompt for 5-minute Friday this week. 
And that prompt is “ache.”
This written reflection was done in 5 minutes – 
links, photos and captions added later.
Join the party over at The Gypsy Mama and check out how others have responded. 

(And then you can scroll through a few samples of heart-thrumming beauty recorded by my camera over the last few years – and this is just a small sample. They range from scenic vistas to charming children, to delicious food to ancient cathedrals.) 


Puget Sound, WA, August 2007

Four gangly boys and their games.

Butchart Gardens, August 2007
Two-year-olds that same summer.
 Whidbey Island views, 2007
Cathedral views, various places – stained glass on old stone; organ pipes and chandeliers; trussed ceilings lit by natural light.

Human structures, remarkable engineering and reflections.
All of these from a river cruise in Europe, 2009


And of course, a variety of Hawaiian views – from Maui and Kauai – places and people who are dear, dear, dear to me. (And a couple of creatures plus a whimsy driven color combo that knocked me flat one day at lunch.)
This last picture is similar to others I’ve posted in this space – one of them in the post noted above – and it is one of about FIFTY I shot of the most remarkable sunset I’ve just about ever seen. And that’s saying something – I’m in my 7th decade, I live in a coastal town, I’ve traveled to HI about every other year since 1980. And this one was an absolute corker.
Filed Under: Family/Travel, God's gifts, Photo Essay, Wonderings in the World

A Lenten Journey: Climbing to the Cross – Day NINE

March 2, 2012 By
Chagall Blue Windows, St. Stephen’s Church, Mainz, Germany
(I believe these were some of the ones done by his students, after his death.)
1 Corinthians 3:16-23, The Message:
You realize, don’t you, that you are the temple of God, and God himself is present in you? No one will get by with vandalizing God’s temple, you can be sure of that. God’s temple is sacred—and you, remember, are the temple.

 Don’t fool yourself. Don’t think that you can be wise merely by being up-to-date with the times. 

Be God’s fool—that’s the path to true wisdom. 
What the world calls smart, God calls stupid. 
It’s written in Scripture,

   He exposes the chicanery of the chic.
   The Master sees through the smoke screens
      of the know-it-alls.

 I don’t want to hear any of you bragging about yourself or anyone else. Everything is already yours as a gift—Paul, Apollos, Peter, the world, life, death, the present, the future—all of it is yours, 

and you are privileged to be in union with Christ, who is in union with God.
_______
If I let myself, I could begin to feel ever-so-slightly smug and superior to those Corinthian Christians.
They’re just a mess.
There’s sexual immorality going on, right in the congregation.
They apparently like to brag about themselves and how smart they are.
They insist on choosing sides – playing up their favorite teachers and insisting that he/she is the best. 

They can’t seem to keep all the teaching straight – they forget about certain truths when it’s convenient to do so

They just don’t get the whole Jesus scene, do they? (she said, condescendingly.)

Gulp. 

Ummm…I’ve just read over this list – and every single thing on it has been true in one congregation or another that I’ve been a part of.

And way more of it than I like to admit is also true of me.
Like…

An unhealthy spirit of competition.
An oh-so-convenient forgetting of some things when  remembering them might be tough…
     or embarrassing,
     or frustrating,
     or scary,
     or completely counter-intuitive.
An entrenched belief that intelligence is what matters, 
     that education wins the day and proves the point, 
     that understanding things with my mind is much more important than living them with my life.

Okay. I’m feeling embarrassed, maybe just a wee bit more humble. 
So…maybe I’m ready to read these words again, a little more slowly this time.
And I discover that the admonitions in this short selection of verses are ringing in my head, with chimes of 
     validation, 
     agreement and 
     regret.

Because I’ve certainly done my share of vandalizing this temple of mine:
     too much food, 
     too little exercise, 
     too little sleep.

And I do try to keep up with the times – yes, I do. 
I try to be at least minimally well-read, 
     to be able to support whatever position I might hold
     on any given subject,
     quoting chapter-and-verse of the latest ‘in’ guru.
And the very LAST thing I ever want to do is look the fool.
Heaven forbid!
Ah. That’s exactly it, isn’t it.
Heaven does not forbid my looking like a fool. 
In fact, it seems that heaven encourages my looking like a fool.
Ouch.
I really don’t like the sound of that at all.
What will people think?
How will I survive the embarrassment, the humiliation?
Here’s how: by remembering.
Specifically – remembering that everything I need to know, everything I need to live – is already mine, as a gift. 

A gift.

“…the world, life, death, the present, the future.”
It’s already mine.
Imagine that!
On second thought,
     in light of this truth,
     maybe looking the fool isn’t such a bad thing after all. 

_____

Lord God Almighty, may I consistently live the life of the holy fool, one who is freed from the burden of over-caring about the opinions of others; free to live the Jesus life, to love the Jesus love, to whoop and holler or to weep and rail, all at the gentle guiding of your Spirit. Help me always to remember that the life I live – and the death I die; the present I inhabit and the future I will discover – are all mine by your gracious gift. 

Click here for day one of this series and an explanation of what it’s all about.



Filed Under: biblical reflection, Lenten Journey, personal journey, Wonderings in the Word

A Lenten Journey: Climbing to the Cross – Day EIGHT

March 1, 2012 By

Mark 2:1-12, Today’s New International Version


A few days later, when Jesus again entered Capernaum, the people heard that he had come home. They gathered in such large numbers that there was no room left, not even outside the door, and he preached the word to them. Some men came, bringing to him a paralyzed man, carried by four of them. Since they could not get him to Jesus because of the crowd, they made an opening in the roof above Jesus by digging through it and then lowered the mat the man was lying on. When Jesus saw their faith, he said to the paralyzed man, “Son, your sins are forgiven.” 
Now some teachers of the law were sitting there, thinking to themselves, “Why does this fellow talk like that? He’s blaspheming! Who can forgive sins but God alone?” 

Immediately Jesus knew in his spirit that this was what they were thinking in their hearts, and he said to them, “Why are you thinking these things? Which is easier: to say to this paralyzed man, ‘Your sins are forgiven,’ or to say, ‘Get up, take your mat and walk’? But I want you to know that the Son of Man has authority on earth to forgive sins.” So he said to the man, “I tell you, get up, take your mat and go home.” He got up, took his mat and walked out in full view of them all. This amazed everyone and they praised God, saying, “We have never seen anything like this!”

_______ 

Do you deal with paralysis? 

I mean, are there some things in this life that literally paralyze you? 

Maybe things like this:
     fear about the future;
     worry about someone you love – a child, if you have one, or a parent, a friend, 
         a spouse;
     grief over the loss of a loved one or a loved relationship;
     overwhelming feelings of inadequacy;
     creeping depression;
     inertia, what the desert fathers and mothers called ‘acedia;’
     chronic fatigue;
     too many small children with too many noisy needs;
     too many teenaged children with too many mysterious needs;
     constantly feeling as though you are somehow never quite ‘enough?’
     generalized anxiety that literally stops you in your tracks.

There are lots of ways to be paralyzed. 

There is, of course, physical paralysis – what seems to be described in this Jesus episode. 

But there is also psychological and spiritual paralysis – an inability to make forward movement without help.

And in our story today, help is provided! 

Friends see a need.
     And they see a possible solution to that need.
     They circle around.
     They brainstorm to overcome obstacles.
     They try something downright crazy, even borderline rude, to get their friend the help he needs.

And then…

Then Jesus looks at the friends, at their faith – their belief that help can be found – and he turns to the man who cannot move and says, “Son, your sins are forgiven.”

Son. 
Your sins are forgiven. 

Sort of a strange thing to say, when you think about it.
And it certainly alarmed all the religious folks who were there to watch the show. According to their boxed-in picture of God and how God works, Jesus is dangerously close to blasphemy with these words, for only God can judge or forgive sin. 

And it is clear that Jesus is offering forgiveness, and out of forgiveness, healing.

But…is Jesus also casting judgment on this man?
On top of the grief and pain of paralysis, is Jesus laying a guilt trip on the guy? 

I don’t think so. 

He calls him, ‘son,’ for one thing,
a term of endearment, tenderness, concern. 

Sounds a lot more like compassion than judgment to my ears.
With these words, Jesus is making a statement about us all; he offers a recognition of our oh-so-human condition.

Because, you see
     we are broken (and in need of healing)
     and we are sinful (and in need of forgiveness), 
     all of it the result of our shared human compulsion
          to be our own god.

And Jesus came to save us from all of it – 
     the sin bits and the broken bits – 
and to restore to us 
     the grace, 
     the beauty, 
     and the divine image 
that is part of the original design. 

So why not say, “Your sins are forgiven?” 
And then, of course, also say, “Be healed.”

But here’s the piece I don’t want to miss – oh, I really don’t want to miss this!

WE CAN HELP EACH OTHER when paralysis takes over.
We can pool our faith with that of one or two or three others – perhaps when our paralyzed friends can’t quite find their own? 

And then we can lean into our shared faith (where two or three are gathered, right?) as we carry our paralyzed friend into the very presence of Jesus. 

We can circle around,
     we can brainstorm creatively and lovingly,
     we can identify where help can be found, and
     we can help carry our friend into exactly the right place,
the place of healing and forgiveness.

Isn’t that amazing?


_______

Great Healer, Great Savior – You are the help we need. Thank you for inviting us into the helping circle with you. And thank you for revealing Truth with a capital “T” to skilled and willing people who can help us to deal with medical/ psychological/emotional/spiritual maladies. Help me to see what this man’s friends saw – to see people in trouble and to work and pray and recommend and refer and carry them bodily if I have to, so that more and more of us can move toward health and wholeness. So that we can get ‘unstuck,’ pick up our mats and walk outta here.

Click here for day one of this series and an explanation of what it’s all about.

Filed Under: biblical reflection, Lenten Journey, Wonderings in the Word
« Previous Page