Eghersis

A Quote from Martin Luther King

2012-01-16T20:05:00.000-08:00

“Oneof the great liabilities of history is that all too many people fail to remainawake through great periods of social change. Every society has its protectorsof status quo and its fraternities of the indifferent who are notorious forsleeping through revolutions. Today, our very survival depends on our abilityto stay awake, to adjust to new ideas, to remain vigilant and to face thechallenge of change.”

Dr.Martin Luther King Jr.

Fear Yourself

2012-01-11T22:03:00.000-08:00

"Never lose your self-respect or grow too familiar with yourself. Let your own integrity keep you righteous. You should owe more to the severity of your own judgment than to all external precepts. Avoid what is indecorous, not because others will judge you harshly, but because you fear your own prudence. Grow to fear yourself and you will have no need of Seneca's imaginary witness."

Source: The Art of Worldly Wisdom by Baltasar Gracián. Trans. Christopher Maurer.
(Seneca's imaginary witness is your own conscience.)

Death of a Friend

2012-01-10T21:55:00.000-08:00

A friend died last week. Actually, she was a co-worker friend. I found out by means of a yellow stickie note attached to the front of my shared computer. I had to read it several times. I thought it was a mistake. I thought I misread the name. I thought "How can this be?" Things were fuzzy. I felt confused. Disoriented. I walked around the hospital wondering "How did this happen?" I felt unnerved.

I sat with another friend, co-worker friend, who expressed disbelief and shock. She needed my ear, my heart. I sat with patients, who expressed disbelief and shock and who cried and cried. They needed my ear, my heart, my presence. I had nothing to say. I sat with their pain and wondered "How can this be? How did this happen?"

There are no easy answers to the death questions. And they were asked by my friend, by my patients. The "why?" the "what now?" And I had no answers, so I gave none, at least no easy ones. Mostly, I sat, I listened, I ached, I felt the pain of the death moments. And I realized that this is what "God with us" is all about. Presence. Presence in the death moments of life.

God is present with us. Moving through it all side by side in the mess of life. Not fixing it. Not giving easy answers that make us feel worse. Not patting us on the head with a patronizing smile. No. Instead, there is God ploughing the rocky row, mixing the manure, and getting dirty right along with us.

Somehow, that is comforting.

I think that is what I did for my friend, for my patients. I walked the rocky row with them. Saying little. Fixing nothing. Patting no one. I joined them. I offered my presence and my pain. Comfort.

Another Reflection on the Gospel of John

2011-12-21T23:18:00.000-08:00

Jesus and John

As I continue reading in John, I am fascinated with what Iam noticing. For this post, I plan to write about the “weirdness” of Jesus.Just a warning so that you have time to exit and go somewhere else in theblogging world.

As I was saying, Jesus strikes me as odd, bizarre, weird.Now it could be that it appears this way because John omits bits and pieces ofthe conversations that Jesus has with people. But it is so odd that it probablydid indeed take place as written. Otherwise, John is a poor storyteller andmakes Jesus look like a weirdo. Either way, Jesus seems to say weird andoff-the-wall things.

Now I have heard preachers try to explain this weirdness,but they make a lot of assumptions. And who, really, can get inside Jesus’ headby means of a few words on a page and speak for half an hour about somethingthat is just too weird to explain. I’ll tell you what I think. I think Jesus’weirdness is scary, so they have to make up some rational explanation so thatJesus doesn’t appear to be munching mushrooms when his disciples weren’tlooking.

Now, I am not trying to be disrespectful here. I am justsaying that some things Jesus says are way out there—downright weird. And forthe record, “weird,” according to the dictionary, is “strange, bizarre.” So thereyou have it. Jesus says weird things. And in John, I have noticed these weirdthings.

The text that really got me thinking about this is in John4. This is the story of Jesus’ conversation with the Samaritan woman at thewell. The first weirdness occurs following an intense dialogue about water—whowill draw it, who will drink it, where it comes from, well water, livingwater—basically, it has to do with water. Jesus brings her to the place whereshe wants the living water and asks Jesus to give it to her.

He then says, “Go get your husband.” What? They were justtalking about water. She wants this living water. And Jesus changes the subjectcompletely and randomly (although, I am sure it made sense in his head), tellsher to get her husband. Weird. Of course, if you’ve read this chapter, you knowthat the conversation takes a few more turns, and by the end of it, they aretalking about the Messiah. And then Jesus declares that he is the Messiah. Butthey get there by way of the husband. Now that is bizarre.

The second weirdness occurs when the disciples come backwith food. They urge Jesus to eat. After all, he was tired and needed to rest.They figure he needs some nourishment to revive his energy. And what does Jesusreply to their urgings? “I have food. You just don’t know about it.” Thedisciples are confused. I would be confused. Then Jesus starts talking aboutsowing and reaping, fields, sowers and reapers, laboring, and getting paid.Weird.

It is as though Jesus ignores what his disciples are saying.And I imagine that Jesus got the kind of stare people have when they areenvisioning something in their own minds and begin talking about it with a sortof flat affect because they are mesmerized by their own visualizations. I don’tknow. Maybe I'm the only one that does that sort of thing. It just seems weird for Jesus to start talking somewhat off-topic.

Andwhat really gets me is that nobody seems to care that Jesus is weird. They lethim be weird. They even go along with his weirdness. I like that. And I likethat Jesus is weird because I identify with weirdness. It gets people’sattention, makes them ask interesting questions, and prevents a certaincomfortableness with the way things are.

I’ll be looking for more of Jesus' weirdness. It keeps measking questions and prevents me from getting too comfortable with who I thinkJesus ought to be or with what others have said about who Jesus is.

A Reflection on The Gospel of John

2011-12-14T22:34:00.000-08:00

St. John the Apostle

Recently, I began reading the gospel of John for my morning reflection. I got stuck on chapter 1 verse 5. "The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it." I felt confused by this. It seems to me rather obvious. I felt curious. What does he mean? John writes as though darkness is an entity with power to act. Could darkness ever overcome light? Why would John write such a thing?

No, I did not grab my Greek New Testament or my lexicon or any reliable commentaries or read through the entire gospel immediately to get the context of this statement. Instead, I sat with it that morning. I have been sitting with it since that morning. And here I am writing about it. Yes, I have read further in the gospel, and yes, I go back and reread that statement to discern how it fits with what I am currently reading.

But at present, it wants to stand alone. It wants to challenge me in some deep place, a dark place, a mysterious place with no name as yet. In my journal for that day's reading, I wrote "the darkness within me cannot overcome the light that is within me." I don't know, but I am thinking that this is mystical language. And of course, I would because that is what I like and prefer. Metaphors and analogies. Vague concepts and spiritual innuendos.

It could be that John simply meant something like "flip the light switch and wah . . . lah . . . darkness gone." But it appears otherwise. John gives darkness power to do something or to not do something. In this case to overcome or not overcome. To overcome light or not.

I like this switcheroo. John seems to be telling me (and certainly, I am personalizing this, and surely, it reflects my inner state of being at present, but nevertheless), he seems to be saying that what is dark in me will never overcome the light in me. Contrary to what I might believe about my life's circumstances or my own abilities, contrary to self-incrimination, self-accusation, or self-darkness, these things will not overcome the light within me.

They will not overcome what shines in me. They will not conquer that which gives me life. But of course, this is what John says in the verse preceding this one. Life is light. The key to this overcoming business is belief. I saw that John says something about this in verse twelve. So in my mind, I can either believe the darkened things about myself or believe the lightened things.

Seems to me that John would like for me to believe that Jesus came to enlighten me so that those self-darkening thoughts and feelings would no longer overcome me. Doesn't mean they no longer exist or that I can pretend they don't exist. It means that they won't do-me-in, they won't choke-me-out, they won't sink me like a chain around my neck in the middle of a swamp.

Instead, there is a steady burning light that doesn't go out, doesn't succumb, doesn't submit. Its source is eternal, fueled by heaven. In John's words, its name is grace and truth, grace upon grace. Grace lights me up, and the dark things that would like to throw me into despair have no power to do so. That is a powerful bit of lighted information. Something I don't want to forget.

Feeling Pain

2011-12-04T18:19:00.001-08:00

There is a kind of emotional pain that is good to feel. I don't mean that "it is good." Rather, I mean that it is good to allow it to be expressed, to be in the body and giving it a place to be felt, to be experienced, to be acknowledged and given a place in the realm of human living. In the short term, it might be easy to suppress the suffering of the pain, but in the long term, it has to be stored somewhere and will make itself known in other ways. "Better out than in" as Shrek would say.

Thus, paradoxically, feeling the emotional pain is actually a form of healing. The pain heals from the inside out. Giving the pain permission to be forces me to examine what is hurting, the real underlying cause. If I am honest with myself and refuse to "blame the other," I am able to discover what it is in me that feels pain, where it is, the reasons for it, the how of it. I discover a small bit of the hidden square in the Johari Window. And that discovery is the seed of healing.

Once the small bit is opened, I can no longer ignore myself. I either welcome the healing glimpse and embrace what I see or deny it and wallow in self pity. Wallowing usually blames the other or blames the self. Neither is helpful. Best to embrace and move through the pain with tears, honest talk, and endurance.

Seeing Red

2011-11-26T18:18:00.001-08:00

Art Therapy

Lately, color matters to me. Particularly, red. Today a red lamp caught my eye. I didn't buy it, but I wanted to. Right now, I need color in my life and lots of it. For some reason, it makes me feel better. It cheers me.

I've been reading a bit on chromotherapy, otherwise known as color therapy. Since red has gotten my eye, I read about red. Of course, red is considered a warm color. Emotionally, it is sometimes associated with anger. Sometimes, it is associated with excitement and intensity. Sometimes, it is associated with love and comfort. Red generates strength and energy.

Apparently, red is related to the masculine principle. It has the longest wavelength and is a powerful color. It is considered a physical color with positive effects, such as physical courage, warmth, friendliness, survival, and stimulation.

Reflecting on red is giving me some insight into what it is that I need at this time in my life. Courage, yes. Strength, yes. Energy, yes. Warmth and stimulation, yes. Love and comfort, yes. Intuitively, my eye has chosen what my spirit needs. And a bit of red is it.

Removal of Excess

2011-11-16T22:24:00.001-08:00

Lately, I have been cleaning out my things. The local Goodwill donation site is full of my things, well, no longer my things. Their things now. When I take these things and drop them in the rolling cart, I feel satisfied. It is the removal of excess. It feels satisfying because it also symbolizes the removal of internal excess. At the same time that I am clearing away old things, broken things, unnecessary things, taking-up-space things, and unwanted things, I am also, clearing away internal clutter.

This inner clutter takes up too much space and burdens me. As I drop my things in the bucket, I am, in a way, releasing inner things that are old, broken, unnecessary, and unwanted. As I do so, I feel an opening up, a spaciousness, freedom to discover what is new, whole, necessary, wanted. As I make way in my physical space, I am finding spiritual space, emotional space. I have a lot to sort. At times, I am ruthless. But years of accumulation require a bit of ruthlessness. Just so, interior accumulation requires a bit of ruthlessness. And sometimes ruthlessness requires no-thinking decision-making. What I mean is "go with the gut" and just let it go. Remove the excess.

The New Normal

2011-11-08T22:21:00.000-08:00

Nothing is normal

We only think it is

Until it changes

We fight

We resist

We cry

Unfair

We buck

And curse

And swear

Until

A new normal emerges

Change

The new normal

LDBarnes

Barely Breathing

2011-11-07T22:32:00.000-08:00

My breathing space

Is small and shrunken.

I barely breathe at all.

It happened

When I was unaware.

The walls moved.

The ceiling dropped.

Doors disappeared.

The air grew stale.

Sour.

Bitter.

And now

I barely breathe at all.

LDBarnes

Insecurity

2011-11-05T17:06:00.000-07:00

Deep sighs

Fear trying to escape

Through my mouth

But it lingers

In my gut

Writhing

Deeply

Sighs of insecurity

LDBarnes

Change

2011-11-02T21:34:00.000-07:00

"People don't resist change.

They resist being changed!"

Peter Senge

Ah! The words of change

Are difficult to swallow,

Difficult to digest,

But swallowed and digested

They must be

These words of health

And refreshment

And new life.

by LDBarnes

Making Room

2011-10-24T21:04:00.000-07:00

There is something to be said for clearing away clutter and those things that take up space without offering anything to the aesthetics of living. Lately, I have sold or given away boxes of books, clothing, crayons, clay, and a variety of other items. They have been taking up space in the attic, the closet, the shelves, etc. And even though I am cleaning a space that is rarely seen by anyone, it feels good to be rid of the stuff and to know that those spaces have room, that those things are gone, that those things are no longer attached to me. It feels liberating and spacious. Those things no longer own me.

It is no secret that our living space is a reflection of our person, our inner space, our likes, our values, our attitudes, our concerns, our views of life. But mostly, our external space is a reflection of our internal space. So when I keep a particular thing, I have to ask myself, "What am I holding onto? Is it worth the attachment?" Many of the Christian mystics talk about detachment. That state of being that is attached to nothing or that state of being that is detached from everything. It is an inner position that allows nothing to own their being except Jesus.

So I guess this cleaning kick feels good because it is my way of saying, "I won't let you own me anymore." I want a simple inside and a complicated outside seems to rub against this desire for simplicity. I've noticed how ads and TV and visits to any number of stores all scream, "Buy, buy, buy, have this, have that, need this, want that." It is a kind of madness that drives us to believe that we must have a gadget, a toy, a tool, a new this or that. And we collect and collect and collect.

I wonder what it would be like to just once (or more) see ads, hear ads, or visit places where we were encouraged to "let go, give away, and have less." Perhaps ads like that would become meditative practices that would encourage clearing the inner space, making room on the inside, de-cluttering the internal noise that distracts us from knowing ourselves.

This is the challenge for me. As I clear away what fills my external space, I have moments of reflecting on those things. I choose. I can attach or detach. And whichever choice I make becomes a point of reflection. I can ask, "Why did I make that choice?" And then I know something more about myself.

A Review of Mystical Union by John Crowder

2011-10-22T13:24:00.000-07:00

Mystical Union

A review of MysticalUnion: Stuff They Never Told You about the Finished Work of the Cross byJohn Crowder. Published by Sons of Thunder Ministries & Publications: SantaCruz, CA. 2010.

Crowder’s book, MysticalUnion, both interested me and disinterested me. First, let me give thereasons for my disinterest. One thing that bothers me about written works issloppy editing, and there is a bit of it in this book. That aside, I also foundthat I was reading the same thing several times in different places. There istoo much repetition for my preferences. And lastly, Crowder is clearly from thePentecostal tradition and addresses that tradition in this book. I come from adifferent religious background, so some of his references to Pentecostalpractices or belief systems held no experiential meaning for me. Despite theediting, the repetition, and our differing backgrounds, I appreciate whatCrowder says about identity and desire.

Crowder challenges his readers to rethink what it means tobe united with Jesus and to claim their identities as those unified with aresurrected Christ. On page 42, he writes “The biggest temptation satan [sic]always threw at Jesus was to have Him question His identity.” I especiallyliked the section on “The Galatian Bewitchment.” This part of the book isbasically an appeal to rely on Jesus’ death and resurrection to define ouridentity. Honestly, I would have liked Crowder to expand more on the “identity”theme that was threaded through the book.

As a minister in spiritual formation and a spiritualdirector, I didn’t find too much that was new to my understanding. But I didvalue his take on 2 Corinthians 3:18. He says “This verse speaks of a greaterand greater manifestation of what you already possess.” (p.197) Transformationfor Crowder is a “teaching and renewing” of the mind to this reality, that isthe reality of union with Jesus, the reality of the “new creature” through thedeath and resurrection of Christ. I agree. Spiritual direction is aboutparticipating with the Trinitarian God to discover the truth that God wants thedirectee and director to know about themselves and God’s indwelling.

One area that concerns me is the place of “suffering” inCrowder’s theology. It wasn’t sufficiently addressed, but then again, maybethat wasn’t where he wanted to go. Yet, there is much in this book that begsthe question, “Where does suffering fit into this picture?”

Overall, MysticalUnion is easy to read, easy to understand, humorous, straightforward, andchallenging. Crowder quotes a variety of other writers and uses livelymetaphors. Some of the metaphors verge on the bizarre, but he makes his pointby using them. I found the book to be interesting because I enjoy reading andlearning from others about what it means to be in union with the Trinity.

Crowder’s concrete mysticism gave me a different perspectiveto consider alongside my more abstract view and experience of mysticism.

Thoughts On Being A Coward

2011-10-13T21:10:00.000-07:00

I am somewhat of a coward. Not all the time. And not in all circumstances. Just some times and in certain situations. I admit this. I own it. For this reason, I am also courageous. When I know that I am cowardly, I must act intentionally in the face of it. I must choose the opposite of what my cowardice would have me do. This is courage, at least for me it is.

It is extremely difficult to stare down fear, to risk doing the unpleasant, to risk doing what might be troublesome, to bear the disdain of others, to feel their disapproval. My cowardice appears when I suspect that my actions will reap the same outcomes that have been in the past. But my courage appears when I act in spite of the fear.

Oddly, I am a coward when I don't know that I am acting cowardly. When I am aware of my own cowardice, when I feel it, when I name it and own it, then I can choose to act on it or to act against it. Either way, I think it leads to courage.

My courage arises when I can say, "Yes, I am a coward in this moment, and I am choosing the cowardly way." I am courageous enough to admit that I have been one or am about to be one. And my courage arises when I can say, "Yes, I am feeling cowardly, I am afraid, but I will do the unpleasant thing anyway." I am courageous because I act against my cowardice and that takes "guts."

Guts--that inner part that twists and turns when cowardice arises. It is admitting that my guts feel queasy and unsettled. So having "guts" to do something really is to take the queasy innards and do the very thing they are screaming not to do. So even though I am somewhat of a coward, I have "guts" and I use them, . . . mostly.

Discreet Wisdom

2011-10-13T00:00:00.000-07:00

"Be well informed. The discreet arm themselves with a store of courtly, tasteful learning: not vulgar gossip, but a practical knowledge of current affairs. They salt their speech with witticisms, and their actions with gallantry, and know how to do so at the right moment. Advice is sometimes transmitted more successfully through a joke than through grave teaching. The wisdom passed along in conversation has meant more to some than the seven arts, no matter how liberal."

A saying from The Art of Worldly Wisdom: A Pocket Oracle

by Baltasar Gracian and translated by Christopher Maurer.

"The discreet" wow . . . if only . . . how does one become discreet if not born with it already as a disposition? Or if not exposed to it in the family of origin? Is becoming discreet something to be learned? It seems intentional and purposeful. It seems like quick thinking in the moment. Oh, to have this gift--the gift of discreet wisdom.

Singing Loudly and Absurdly

2011-10-05T21:17:00.000-07:00

Singing loudly has a way of making things that are not-quite-right internally okay. As a matter of fact, singing loudly and absurdly makes things seem less sad, less worrisome, and less bitter. Actually, it makes things seem funny and ridiculous. Well, I guess what it does is make me seem funny and ridiculous and absurd.

As I was doing this, singing loudly and absurdly, I noticed that I got louder and louder and then I started laughing. It felt really good. And, not so oddly, it was contagious. My daughter began to laugh at my absurdness and loudness. Then my other daughter had to come and see what was up, and she began to laugh. Then her husband came into the scene. The energy of the singing gave me more energy, so I kept it up.

I sang for about 20 minutes while I washed dishes, and my absurd song was about the dishes, and the washing, and the soap (or rather shampoo because I ran out of dish soap), and then I included those who came to see the noise. A tedious everyday job became a fun time of nonsense. I had a good time being silly, and it rubbed off on everyone else. This is right. This is good. This is being connected humanly and divinely. This is sacred stuff. The stuff of the kingdom.

In Honor of the Foot

2011-09-28T21:36:00.000-07:00

Before I injured my foot, I didn't pay much attention to walking or to climbing stairs or to pressing the gas pedal or the brake pedal or to kneeling or standing. But for the past three weeks, I have been acutely aware of what part of the foot stands, walks, climbs, presses, and kneels. It amazes me how many muscles and nerves and tendons are all intricately connected and dependent on one another, and how focused I must be to walk or do anything involving my foot.

How easily I used to walk. How unconcerned I was with how my foot landed or with which toes were touching where or with what part pushed off the ground. Not so now. Now, I must think about it. I take care. I concentrate. I am aware. I notice what my feet are doing, how they do it, and what it feels like when they are doing it.

This new awareness strikes me as important, and I wonder what I have been missing as I go through my habitual life, doing this, doing that, without noticing the how, the what, the where, the why. Paying attention to my feet has encouraged a kind of wholeness, body wholeness. It is as though my feet want to be noticed for what they do and how they do it. And oddly, I want to notice them. I want to feel them, to know what it is they do, and how they contribute to my experience of life.

I have the sense that noticing my feet these past weeks honors God. I have had to slow down and notice something that is part of me, something that God gave me. The gift of walking, climbing, running, standing, pressing, and stepping. My feet are part of the kingdom, and they deserve a bit of recognition. So here's to my feet, and to my right foot in particular. May you recover fully and be all that God has for you in the kingdom.

Note to Self

2011-09-26T21:54:00.000-07:00

Three Pools on the Little North Santiam

Almost three weeks ago, I injured my right foot. I was in the river barefoot, slipped, and stepped back onto a jagged rock that cut the back of my heel just below the Achilles' tendon. Within a matter of seconds, my camping and hiking vacation ended. My life went from climbing over rocks and traversing narrow forest trails to limping painfully around my house and crawling up the stairs on my hands and knees. This event got me to thinking about myself.

I was unprepared mentally. I was "caught off guard." Surprised. Shocked. Filled with disbelief. I berated myself. The "if only-s" plagued me. The "should have-s" filled my thoughts. I thought about grief and loss and knew that I was experiencing it, but it didn't help knowing. I was angry. I kept wishing for the "what if." But the injury remained as did the pain of it. Acceptance arrived with my ER visit. No more denial or wishing the injury was something other than it was.

Much as I would like to control life, some things are beyond control. These are the things that turn us inside out and reveal what really makes us who we are. I'd like to think that I can handle stuff, but this injury revealed how easily I become disappointed with myself. I was disappointed about something over which I had no control. At least little control (I still keep telling myself that I "should have" worn my water shoes.)

But where was my self-compassion? I was injured and all I could be was disappointed with myself. No compassion. I was in pain, sometimes in agony and not once did I give myself a pat for being brave, for hobbling over the rocks, for staggering back to the car, for cleaning my wound. I grumped at myself. I gave myself no room to be injured, to be wounded. No grace.

I want to remember this. In the midst of grief and loss, I want to be kind to myself. I want to be compassionate to myself. Note to self: It was an accident. No need to place blame on yourself. Just remember--next time, wear the shoes.

Re-Purposed

2011-09-05T21:52:00.000-07:00

Magazine Plant Stand

I was "stumbling" today. What I mean is I was using Stumble Upon to surf the net. In the process, I came across some interesting upcycling projects and creative reuse of throw-away-able items. The idea of reusing things and imagining them as something other than their original purpose intrigues me. It stretches the imagination and probably connects brain neurons in new ways. One problem is that it takes time to re-imagine a thing and then it takes time to re-make the thing. So much easier to just go buy a thing that serves the need and to throw away what doesn't. Sad. My "stumbling" challenged me, caused me to consider what could be reused, salvaged, remade, renewed, and redone. I think of God's re-creating me, re-making me, re-newing me, re-doing me. I've not been thrown on the garbage heap. Instead, God re-imagined me and is the process of upcycling me. I am one of those creative projects that is being re-purposed. I like that about God and me. We're goin' green together.

Godly Opals and The Oregon Sunstone

2011-09-04T21:48:00.000-07:00

Rough Opal

Oregon Sunstone

Rocks fascinate me. And I looked at lots of them today at the Gem and Mineral Show in Canby. Two of my favorites are the raw opals and the Oregon sunstones. The opals are milky, translucent and iridescent. They are sleek and smooth, like glass, but better. I love God for creating them. It's not the only reason I love God, but opals sure make it easier. I gotta love a God who designed such a naturally beautiful thing. Opals are wonderful just as God made them. Then there are the sunstones. Lovely in the raw, but stunning when polished. They are a collaboration between God and humans. A partnership in a finished product. I imagine God and I smiling together when I admire the Godly opal and the Oregon sunstone polished by a created hand.

God-Love

2011-09-03T19:34:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I watched the sunset on the beach. The day was chilly and windy. But the time spent with my daughters and grandson was splendid. The love I feel for them is a God-love. It is a love that simply is. I felt love for them freely. No expectations. No commitments. No oughts or shoulds. Their presence was enough. It was a connected love that needed no words. We were together, in love, sharing the sunset, sharing the wind, sharing the chill, sharing the beach, sharing ourselves. A God-love.

Teeth-Cleaning Meditation

2011-09-01T22:53:00.000-07:00

This might sound odd, but whenever I have my teeth cleaned, I meditate. It is my teeth-cleaning meditation. I think it developed out of two practices. First, I have a habit of meditating while lying in bed. I lie on my back, cross my arms over my chest, close my eyes, and focus on breathing or on being quiet with myself. Second, when my teeth are being cleaned, I have a habit of tightening all the muscles in my body, as though this tightening will somehow prevent the picking, poking, and scraping.

As a way to relax my muscles, I began to use my meditation techniques. I am already on my back in the chair. I just add the crossed arms, close my eyes, and focus on being quiet and at rest. It works. I have been doing this for years now. I became more aware of it today as my teeth were being cleaned. For some reason, I had the curious thought that my teeth were happy. I focused on the cleaning. I felt the tugging, the chipping, the scratching, the washing, the sucking, the pulling, and the nicking. And it felt good. I noticed it all.

My body remained relaxed and still, but my mind was alert to the process. I knew each tooth. And weird as it sounds, my teeth knew me. I felt united to them and we were glad. I imagine this created body wants to be recognized as worthy and honorable. A body to be noticed. Even those teeth touched by the hand of God deserve some notice. I wonder if their happiness was increased because I noticed.

Copper Sunlight

2011-08-31T22:07:00.000-07:00

I spent the day hiking with my daughter around the Ten Falls Trail at Silver Creek. For most of the 9 miles, we had cloudy overcast skies. But near the end of our hike, copper sunlight shone at selected places on the trail, on the water, and in the trees. This was not pure sunlight because the sun was still covered by clouds. The light was filtered. The effect of this cloudy filter caused the sunlight to appear copperish. Oddly, the light did not land everywhere. It lay in patches here and there. Soft copper sunlight patches. The appearance of it reminded me of Tolkien's description of Lothlorien.

They felt like gentle touches from heaven. Soft places of peace. A reaching by God into creation and brushing lightly the forested places. A glimpse of God's love for nature. A glimpse of God's tenderness and care for created things. Brief tales of God's beauty. Brief messages of wonder and awe. Coppery worship among the trees and undergrowth. Blessed be the copper sunlight.

Clamor

2011-08-31T00:10:00.000-07:00

Today I went to the State Fair. I had a great time with my daughter. We viewed calligraphy, watched glass blowers and bead makers, listened to music, cheered for Chinese acrobats, clapped for the horses pulling carriages, ate fair food, shopped through multiple vendors, and laughed at those who'd been hypnotized.

In every place, there were things to see, to touch, to smell, and people talking, laughing, eating, clapping, and selling. They were selling vacuums, filters, sheets, blenders, shears, candy, popcorn, necklaces, rings, hats, T-shirts, shoes, stuff and more stuff.

In one building, there were sales people with microphones so the crowds could hear them talk about chopping, blending, scrubbing, wiping, spinning, cooking, or sewing. My eyes and ears were full of the clamor. Once I felt it try to get inside me. Odd feeling. I kept it at bay, and it stayed out.

I wonder how many people unaware allow it to climb inside and take it with them. Unwittingly, accepting the clamorous gift of non-stop unrest. Taking home the unquiet notion that the life lived is not enough, not exciting enough, not full enough, not easy enough.

The clamor of the fair was fun for the day, but I left it there. I have enough.

Hearing Silence

2011-08-29T21:30:00.000-07:00

Table Rock Wilderness

Today my daughter and I hiked to Table Rock. It is 4881 feet above sea level. At that height and from that view, we saw Mt. St. Helens, Mt. Hood, Three-Fingered Jack, Mt. Jefferson, and the Three Sisters. We also saw clouds. Not above us but beneath us. Clouds covered the lowlands north, south, and west. Thick white clouds filled the valleys. As I sat on the top of Table Rock, I heard silence. Thick silence. Weighted silence. Silence that offers rest while pressing in at the same time. I continued to notice this silence as we hiked down through the forest and over the boulder field. Certain places housed a heavier silence than others.

I thought about God, the Creator of the forest, the boulders, the ferns, the springs, the silence. It seemed that the silence was a living being. It seemed the silence was God. It was deep. It was Present. It was all encompassing. And as the silence, God was saying something to me. It was a great silence full of silent speaking. For a moment, I felt afraid of the silence. It felt powerful. It felt as though all the energy of the universe was in that silence. I heard it and it frightened me.

I wondered at myself when I felt afraid. I treasure quiet moments, restful moments. Time alone. By myself. No radio. No television. But this silence mystified me. It challenged me. It invited me into something larger, deeper, and more profound than any silence I have experienced. It was real silence. A fully clothed silence and a strip-away-everything silence. It called to me. I heard its call, and I wonder what it wants.

Act without Doing

2011-07-03T21:33:00.000-07:00

Act without doing;
work without effort.
Think of the small as large
and the few as many.
Confront the difficult
while it is still easy;
accomplish the great task
by a series of small acts.

The Master never reaches for the great;
thus she achieves greatness.
When she runs into a difficulty,
she stops and gives herself to it.
She doesn't cling to her own comfort;
thus problems are no problem for her.

From: Tao Te Ching translated by Stephen Mitchell. New York: HarperPerennial Modern Classics, 1988.

Hat Spirituality

2011-06-25T22:16:00.000-07:00

Make a Chinese paper hat

World Beat Festival is happening in Salem this weekend. I went today. I ate Turkish flatbread with feta, parsley, green onions, and spinach. I walked through an archway spraying a water mist. I looked at a Dragon boat. I perused clothing and jewelry kiosks, drum kiosks, various cultural centers, listened to music from China, Mexico, Africa, Asia, the Pacific Islands, enjoyed dancing from the same, savored Italian ice, and laughed with my daughter. We bought hats at the same booth. It took us a long time to decide which hat was the best hat suited for our faces, our hair, our personalities. It matters.

I heard a woman ask someone "Does this look like me?" I've said that. I probably said it when I was trying on hats. Funny how clothing, shoes, hats have a way of saying "This is who I am." And they do. Our exterior reflects our interior. We have preferences in color, style, size, shape, texture, length, cut, and content. We think we wear certain things because we like them. Sure we like them, but why? What is it about that color, that texture, that cut, that content?

I think the style of our clothing says something about what we are hiding or what we are exposing or what we are saying about ourselves or what we are saying about our spirituality. It seems to me that reflecting on my choice of dress and accessories might reveal to me something about myself that I didn't know on a conscious level. Hmmm . . . I wonder what this new hat has to say about me? or my spirituality?

Play is Play

2011-06-24T20:56:00.000-07:00

Play is play. Yes, I know. What is the point of writing that? But I am thinking here that not much really needs to be said about play. Play means play. It conjures up images of games, sports, children, fun, toys, laughing, running, hopping, skipping, maybe jumping, maybe yelling, hooting, throwing things, hitting things, tossing things, catching things, creating things, loosening up, cutting up, maybe tickling, maybe wrestling, pretending, make believing, maybe dressing up, telling stories, jokes, hiding, seeking, tagging, swimming, diving, rowing, paddling, singing loudly out of tune or in tune, doing for the sheer pleasure of doing freely without concern for opinions or sneers or smug looks.

So what's your play? Do it today. Do it soon. Do it for the pleasure of play. You won't regret it because play is play and play is part of God's world.

It's the Laughing

2011-06-20T21:01:00.000-07:00

The thing I am learning about anxiety is that I need to talk it out. As an introvert, I tend to keep my tensions inside of me. I have this idea that I can manage them internally. While that is true for some of the time, it takes a whole lot longer and sometimes gets a whole lot bigger before the anxiety whittles away to nothing. But by that time, I have stopped laughing, stopped singing, and stopped skipping.

Over the past few months, I have learned something about myself. I like to express my anxiety in a hugely dramatized extroverted fashion. As a matter of fact, this is how I need to express my anxiety. Anxiety feels large. It swells and gets puffy. It balloons outward and needs to release a lot of hot air. I used to think that this was a negative outcome because my family interpreted these dramatic interludes as complaining or as something else that caused them discomfort. I think they take them personally and feel intimidated by the force of their exhalations.

And that is what I do. I exhale my anxiety in big swelling breaths. Like Shrek says, "Better out than in." I realize that I just need to inform the listeners that I am simply blowing a lot of dramatic hot air. Nothing personal. I do this with my CPE peers, and because they are not emotionally invested in my anxiety, I can get really dramatic. I make it "huge-er" than it is in reality, and it becomes comic relief for all of us. They laugh, I laugh. They laugh harder. I laugh harder and sometimes snort, which is embarrassing, and then I laugh myself into that suffocating state that hurts the gut and makes the mouth ache.

Really, I think it is the laughing that I love most about anxiety.

Transitions

2011-06-18T21:00:00.000-07:00

Today I am thinking about transitions. Recently, some changes were made in my chaplain residency, and I find myself in transition from what was comfortable and familiar to what feels uncomfortable and unfamiliar. No matter how much I like change and the challenge of something new, I realize that the transitional period is a time of grieving the loss of what was and the embracing of what is. It is a paradoxical dilemma. I want to have the present but I don't want to release the past. There is something in the familiar that I want to bring with me into the change. It is my comfort, my ease, my peace. The transition disturbs all of that. Certainly I know that I will eventually feel comfortable, at ease, and peaceful. It is the meantime, the threshold space, the moving place that leaves my feet feeling unsteady and wobbly. It is the norm of life. Loss and gain. Gain and loss. The delight of life. The grief of life.

Rosenthal on Meditation

2011-06-10T11:26:00.000-07:00

Article on Meditation and an Interview with Dr. Rosenthal

Evening Comes

2011-05-14T21:36:00.000-07:00

Recently, my daughter's cat died suddenly, unexpectedly. In the morning he was rubbing himself around my legs and vying for his daily rub down, and by evening he was stretched out under the living room sofa table with no life left in him. He was young, only six years. Sad and unbelievable. We had no indication that he was ill, no inkling of death.

How quickly life is lived and then gone. No wonder the ancients were concerned about making a lasting name for themselves. They wanted meaning. They wanted their living to outlast them. They wanted something to live beyond their physical bodies. What is it that remains of them? A name, a record of something done, and the consequences of that doing.

I think about my name. I've had several. I think about what I've done, and some of it bothers me. I think of the consequences, and some of them I don't like. Nevertheless, I want my life to mean something. I'm not that interested in making a name for myself, but I do care about what my life means right now and what consequences are being created in the moment. It matters because evening comes, death arrives, and the pleasantries of morning are gone in a seeming instant.

Thoughts on Anxiety

2011-05-03T20:58:00.000-07:00

The funny thing about anxiety is that it comes when there is really nothing that can be done to alleviate the situation, at least immediately. In other words, there is loss of control or at least the feeling of out-of-controlness. Sometimes this is temporary, other times, it lingers. It seems to be related to a what-will-happen-to-me fear. And usually this is in situations where I might look silly, make a mistake, fail, or embarrass myself. So it ends up being about me. My anxiety is about performance, looking good, gaining approval, keeping it together. Mostly, I waste energy on anxiety.

Recently, I have been reflecting on doing something different with it. I give it to other people usually in the form of humor. I find that when I feel anxiety, it builds a kind of inner pressure. So I have been releasing it in bursts of exaggerated descriptions of what is getting on my nerves. As I express my anxiety, it seems to get bigger and bigger as a "dramatic" narrative. It gets so ridiculous that I start laughing about it. Then others laugh. I add more drama and laugh more. Sometimes others contribute their drama to mine. It becomes a kind of dramatic-anxiety celebration. By the end of it, my anxiety energy has been converted into laughter. And it seems I heard someone say that laughter feeds the soul. This means my anxiety has some purpose now. I can recycle it into my soul.

Holy Saturday

2011-04-23T21:05:00.000-07:00

Holy Saturday

Quiet

The night waits

In silence.

Mournful

The stars weep

In darkness.

Sadness

The tomb groans

In fullness.

Waiting

The angel stands

In readiness.

For the Sunrise.

Lightening Up

2011-04-19T20:30:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I ate only vegetables and fruit. Today, I ate only vegetables and fruit. Tomorrow, I intend to eat only vegetables and fruit. And the day after that, vegetables and fruit. Until Easter, vegetables and fruit. I wanted to try it because sometimes I feel too heavy. Not like I weigh too much, but weighted with heavy foods. For Lent, I refrained from refined sugar and felt lighter. But resorting to veggies and fruit feels even lighter, like dumping weights that pull one down. It is like the letting go of things that prevent the rising up. And with Easter coming, I want to rise up. I want to be lighter than I was before Easter. For some reason, it feels dark and heavy just before Resurrection Day. So I guess what I am doing is preparing, trying to ditch the dark and the heavy in a physical way so that I can leap on Sunday and really celebrate with lightness.

The Ferris Wheel Mood

2011-04-17T20:06:00.000-07:00

Today I am reflecting on mood. So many things can affect mood--the weather, food, circumstances, situations, people, health, movies, music, exercise, work, clutter, thoughts, dreams, fatigue, too much of, lack of. I've been trying to discern why it is that for two weeks I can feel childlike and free and then fall into the I-feel-old-and-tired mood and wonder what it is I am trying to do with myself.

This mood has the bad habit of feeding off of rotating thoughts about life in general. It likes the Ferris wheel thought process. The same empty seats keep coming back around, stuck in place, going nowhere. A bothersome mood. A dizzy-ing mood. Yoga helps. Kick-boxing helps. Step aerobics helps. Walking helps. But mostly, talking out loud to God in the car while driving helps a lot.

God's ears fly down the road at 55 mph, sometimes 65 or 70, and they hear all the Ferris wheel junk. God just listens. Maybe that is what helps, the listening. Or maybe it is that what I say bounces around inside the car long enough for it to break free of the wheel and be sucked out the air vents into the atmosphere where it no longer bothers me. Or maybe just maybe, it is that God's ears absorb those Ferris wheel vibes so that it comes to a creaking halt. Then I can fill those seats with different thoughts and regain my balance.

CPE Art

2011-02-15T19:40:00.000-08:00

This is a piece that my CPE cohort created one morning for our group dynamics exercise. There were five of us who created it together. It is 3 feet by 4 feet and now hangs in our student office.

Secret Pleasure

2011-01-18T20:06:00.000-08:00

There is something tantalizing about having a wonderful secret that will eventually be revealed. It is like finding a small treasure in an antique shop and hiding it in a bag until it can be pulled out and displayed. It is like saving Dove's dark chocolate for the moment when it can be enjoyed with classical music and a glass of wine. There is pleasure in the knowing of it, pleasure in the keeping of it, and pleasure in the moment of revealing it. It is mischievous.

This is what it is like to hold that Divine inner secret, the secret of Christ in me. Only I know the transforming work of the Spirit in me. Only I can say what my experience of God has been in my deepest self. It is a private work that I know and keep and hold sacred. My pleasure is that one day the Christ in me will be revealed and the Divine secret will be fully known in my complete transformation. I guess I could also call this hope, but having a secret feels more mischievous. And right now, I am feeling quite that way.

Photo by Lisa Barnes taken in the Port Angeles Outdoor Art Gallery.

Grief in the Kingdom

2011-01-16T20:28:00.000-08:00

Over the past three weeks, I worked on the preparations for a memorial service. And something that I noticed was how deeply I was affected by that process. As a chaplain, I met with a diverse group of people in order to work out the details of the service. I was struck by how each person dealt with their grief. I was not close to the deceased, but I felt the intensity of all the emotions. I held a grieving space for all who were affected by this patient's death. I felt their pain, their loss, their darkness. The experience brought Romans 12:15 into stark reality. "Weep with those who weep." I think this is what it is like to have the mind of Christ and to be united with humanity in pain and suffering. As I suffered with this community of people, I participated in the Kingdom of God. I offered a sacred space of peace, comfort, and hope in the midst of tears. Definitely a God moment.

Feline Meditation

2011-01-11T20:56:00.000-08:00

We have two cats. Neither one belongs to me. Nevertheless, I enjoy them. One of them is a lap napper. He will climb on my lap, or rather my chest because I slouch on the sofa, curl up, and snooze. I receive a few benefits from his habit. He is warm, he is soft and touchable, and he purrs and purrs and purrs.

His purring vibrates through my abdomen and chest and causes a settling sensation. It relaxes me. It is like a small motor that turns down my internal energy level and evens out my breathing. Frankly, it is meditation with a cat.

And rather than being odd, I think it is as God would have it. It is a symbiosis of creation. A simple purring cat brings to life the shalom of God. I like the idea of embracing the kingdom of God with my feline friends. They bring a lovely gift for the healing of my soul and spirit.

For more on the healing purr of cats, go here:
http://www.healingmusic.org/Library/Newsroom/ACatsHealingPurr.asp

Yo-Yo Ma and the Shallow Song

2011-01-10T19:21:00.000-08:00

I have been listening to Yo-Yo Ma the past couple of days. One of his songs is called Trad: Yanzi (Shallow Song). I love this piece because it is on the verge of the deep.

In the beginning of the song, the cello resonates and sinks deeply into my being. It stirs something mysterious within me. It stirs some unnameable thing. Then the flute floats me. The flute is like the surface of deep water. It teases, it ripples, and then comes the cello's dark waters. The notes draw me down into a soul place. A dark place.

One might think that this dark place is frightening, but it is just the opposite. The cello invites me into this place and I want to go there. I want to feel that deep place. I want to know that deep place. I want to experience that dark place. But the cello takes me there only teasingly. Just when I am about to be submerged into the notes and the deep and the dark, the cello rises to the surface and submits to the flute.

It creates in me a longing, a longing for deepness, the deepness and the darkness of the spirit, of my soul. It creates in me longing for the Divine Darkness, the Divine Deepness. My soul longs to be united with that Divineness.

So this Shallow Song reminds me that I am shallow, that my soul never quite reaches into the Deep Divine, that there is a deepness that defies me. And yet that is where my soul's deepest desires lie.

On Annoying Thoughts

2011-01-09T19:27:00.000-08:00

I am amazed at how thoughts can be so disruptive and annoying. It seems that no matter how many times I try to quiet my mind, they slowly and sneakily creep back into my silence. Consciously, I put them aside and for a brief time, I am quiet. But then without realizing what has happened, they are there and have been there before I am again consciously aware that they have sneaked into my quiet.

They seem to have a force all their own. They do what they want, go where they want, be what they want. They seem to embody that which I do not want. They pursue me. And the problem is that I carry them with me. They are inside me, hiding or presiding. Annoying me when I want peace. When I want to shake them, they cling. I send them away, but they keep coming back like a bad dream.

The more I fight them, the more tenacious they become. The more I swear at them, the louder they become. The more I hate them, the more fitful they become. They are like rebellious children who scream and roll around on grocery aisle floors when their mothers do not buy them a piece of gum. They want attention. So they get annoying.

Thus, the solution seems to be in allowing them their day, their time, their space. I need to give them their hour of annoyance and then wave and walk away. I need to tell them that I see them, I see what they are doing, I hear what they are saying. And then tell them that I want no part of what they offer. I may have to do this out loud and in public. Eegads!

But something must be done about these sneaking thoughts. It is time for them to know what is what and what is not.

Rhythm

2011-01-08T19:16:00.000-08:00

I am out of rhythm these days. I stop and start. There is no flow. It feels jerky. Unsettled. Thoughts are mixed in my mind. They elude capture. The thing about lacking rhythm is that there is nothing to do but live in the moment. To live with whatever presents itself. But I find that the moment feels edgy and sharp when there is no rhythm. The moment begs for peace, for flow, for a sense of stability.

Rhythm requires will and self-discipline. But in the midst of out-of-rhythm comes a weak will and no desire to discipline oneself. It is the paradox of rhythm. No rhythm reinforces no rhythm. Rhythm reinforces rhythm.

Upon reflection, I realize that I do have a rhythm. But it is of the kind that reaches into old habits, old ways of thinking, old ways of doing, unproductive ways, unhealthy ways. I suppose when I have had enough, I will make the jump into a rhythm of healing and peace.

I think that leap must be made today, always today.

A New Year's Blessing

2011-01-01T12:25:00.000-08:00

A new year begins. The beginning of a new year invites planning and goal setting, but inevitably the unexpected surprises me. This is the mystery of a new year. So as I reflect on 2010, I see that amidst all my plans came surprises, some welcomed, some not so welcomed. But they came nevertheless and my life is changed because of them.

As I enter the new year's journey, I anticipate the expected and the unexpected. Both will change me. Thus, my hope for 2011 is that my spiritual formation will draw me closer to my Creator and unite me with the Divine Presence.

May your New Year be a year of spiritual change and a forming in you of the Divine Peace.

Strong Water Sixth Stanza

2010-12-06T20:27:00.000-08:00

What comforts her is others loving

her equally for the strength and for the weakness

from which it issues, lightning from a cloud.

Lightning stuns. In rain, the clouds disperse.

Only water of connection remains,

flowing through us. Strong is what we make

each other. Until we are all strong together,

a strong woman is a woman strongly afraid.

This is my page spread reflection on the sixth stanza of Marge Piercy's poem, For Strong Women.

Strong Wind Fifth Stanza

2010-12-02T20:02:00.000-08:00

A strong woman is a woman who craves love

like oxygen or she turns blue choking.

A strong woman is a woman who loves

strongly and weeps strongly and is strongly

terrifed and has strong needs. A strong woman is strong

in words, in action, in connection, in feeling;

she is not strong as a stone but as a wolf

suckling her young. Strength is not in her, but she

enacts it as the wind fills a sail.

This is my page spread reflection on the fifth stanza of Marge Piercy's poem, For Strong Women.

Scars Fourth Stanza

2010-11-20T17:33:00.000-08:00

A strong woman is a woman bleeding

inside. A strong woman is a woman making

herself strong every morning while her teeth

loosen and her back throbs. Every baby,

a tooth, midwives used to say, and now

every battle a scar. A strong woman

is a mass of scar tissue that aches

when it rains and wounds that bleed

when you bump them and memories that get up

in the night and pace in boots to and fro.

This is my page spread reflection on the fourth stanza of Marge Piercy's poem, For Strong Women.

Determined Stanza Three

2010-10-15T20:15:00.000-07:00

A strong woman is a woman determined

to do something others are determined

not be done. She is pushing up on the bottom

of a lead coffin lid. She is trying to raise

a manhole cover with her head, she is trying

to butt her way through a steel wall.

Her head hurts. People waiting for the hole

to be made say, hurry, you’re so strong.

This is my page spread reflection on the third stanza of Marge Piercy's poem, For Strong Women.

Death Second Stanza

2010-09-29T19:24:00.000-07:00

A strong woman is a woman in whose head

a voice is repeating, I told you so,

ugly, bad girl, bitch, nag, shrill, witch,

ballbuster, nobody will ever love you back,

why aren’t you feminine, why aren’t

you soft, why aren’t you quiet, why

aren’t you dead?

This is my page spread reflection on the second stanza of Marge Piercy's poem, For Strong Women.

Straining with Tears First Stanza

2010-09-27T21:18:00.000-07:00

A strong woman is a woman who is straining.

A strong woman is a woman standing

on tiptoe and lifting a barbell

while trying to sing Boris Godunov.

A strong woman is a woman at work

cleaning out the cesspool of the ages,

and while she shovels, she talks about

how she doesn’t mind crying, it opens

the ducts of the eyes, and throwing up

develops the stomach muscles, and

she goes on shoveling with tears

in her nose.

This is the page spread that I did as my reflection on the first stanza of the poem For Strong Women by Marge Piercy.

For Strong Women

2010-09-26T16:19:00.000-07:00

This altered book represents my reflection on the poem, For Strong Women by Marge Piercy. Each page spread is a contemplative art reflection on one stanza of the poem. Here you see the cover and the inside of the cover.

I created the cover with a strap that fastens so that the book would be completely closed. This felt right because the interior of the book felt personal and vulnerable.

I will post each spread with its proper stanza and in the order of the poem. I hope you enjoy the poem and my artistic reflection of each of the stanzas.

The Monk Room

2010-08-25T09:18:00.000-07:00

An inside space

Darkly lighted

A mysterious space

Silently dimmed

A solid place

Spaciously emptied

A hollow place

Fully occupied

Laughing and dancing

In the monk room

Image is from Abbey of the Arts Poetry Party

Behold, the Spider

2010-08-01T18:12:00.000-07:00

The other day I was watching a spider weave her web. Around and around she went. Her legs constantly in motion. The thin thread forming a fragile circle of connections. A breeze lifted her work, yet despite the constant movement, she persisted. Finally, she finished and settled herself in the center of her web. It was perfected and lovely to see.

About thirty seconds after she had arranged herself in the centered position, my daughter's cat walked beneath the web and his tail snagged an anchor thread. The bottom half of the perfected circle sprung up and became a tangled mess just below the central part of the web.

I anticipated that the spider would frantically begin to remake the section of web that had been ruined. Instead, she simply created another anchor thread and in a different location from where the first one had been. It took her about thirty seconds to make this simple repair. She then resettled herself in the center of the web above the sticky tangled threads.

This maneuver took me by surprise. I was somewhat annoyed that her beautiful work had been ruined by a cat's tail. But she was unperturbed. She did what was necessary to sustain herself. She didn't need a perfect web. She learned that the former anchor was a problem and relocated it. She adapted to the hazards of being a webweaver. She taught me a lesson. More than one.

She taught me not to be overly concerned with perfected work. She taught me that as a minister, my work might snag, become messy, untidy, imperfect, but that it is okay. She taught me to be unperturbed. She taught me to learn from what might prove to be problem areas, to learn how to re-anchor and work with and around the mess. She taught me to permit the mess to co-exist with the perfect. And she taught me to always return to center.

Laptop and Prayer

2010-07-29T10:51:00.000-07:00

How is it that we become so dependent on "things"? Okay, so I admit it. How is it that I have become so dependent on things? I am referring to my computer. My laptop, specifically. One day it just wouldn't boot up. No power. Not a sound. One day it was running perfectly, the next, gone. Dark. Dead.

It was then I realized that I wanted it back.But I have to wait and use other computers. Computers that are not the same. Computers that run slowly. Computers that do not have my documents, my files, my writings, my poems, my pictures, my words, my self. How did this happen? Slowly, as most things seem to happen.

This has happened to my prayer self. Slowly, it has gone dark. It seems dead. One day all was running smoothly, the next, gone. I miss it. How long must I wait for what is broken to be repaired? I have had to use other ways of praying than what is familiar. Does this mean that God is stretching me? Inviting me to discover something that I need to know about myself? Does God want me to reexamine our relationship? To reset my priorities? Or am I to do without in order to appreciate what was?

As I have had to do without my friendly laptop, I realize that I am able to manage my affairs without it. I adjust. I realign. I find new ways to do what would have been done. In all my reading about creativity, this is what is needed to get the creative energies moving, flowing. There is the need to be jarred out of routinized behaviors. I can appreciate this as I learn to accommodate my lack of a reliable computer.

So, perhaps, this whole dark prayer thing is an invitation to some creative thinking, creative doing, creative ways of being in relationship with God. After all, as a spiritual formation guru, isn't that what drives my passion, my heart, my love of all things sacred? I thrive on that which shakes me out of my comfortable way of being and into places of growing, changing, transforming.

So, I guess, I can thank my laptop for going dark and offering me a bit of reflective thinking on the darkness of prayer.

Lyric 12

2010-06-07T10:28:00.000-07:00

I believe in myself slowly.
It takes all of the doubt I’ve got.
It takes my wonder.

Lyric 12 by Primus St. John from Communion: Poems 1976 – 1998

Pentecost Dream

2010-05-25T17:57:00.000-07:00

This past Sunday was Pentecost Sunday, a day to remember the flaming fire of the Holy Spirit. The Friday and Saturday night before, I dreamed about fire. In the first dream on Friday, I was told, "Don't be afraid." And in the second dream on Saturday, I walked right into a consuming but nonconsuming fire.

After waking Sunday morning, I started to reflect on my dreams when I suddenly remembered that it was Pentecost Sunday. The dream's images became extremely powerful. Since then, I have been thinking about this consuming but nonconsuming fire.

This is the Holy Spirit. The Spirit consumes but does not consume. I can stand in the Presence of a fire that has the power to burn all that can be burned and not be burned. Not be hurt. Not be reduced to ashes. It is a fire that knows what to consume and how to consume it.

As I stood in the middle of that consuming fire in my dream, I distinctly knew that this fire was powerful and that it was consuming. But I was not afraid, instead I was safe and unconsumed. What was consumed? My fear.

My fear of those things that would hinder the work of the Spirit was consumed. I was empowered when this fear was consumed. It was the perfect beginning for a day to remember the flaming fire of the Holy Spirit. It was a Pentecost Dream.

Rudeness, An Invitation to Kindness

2010-05-10T15:44:00.000-07:00

Recently, I was challenged to think of rudeness as an invitation to kindness. Bizarre. But it made sense to me. Too often rudeness causes me to be rude or to make rude comments or to think rude thoughts. I dislike rudeness, so why would I allow it to effect rudeness in me. Mostly, I think it is because I become indignant. I don't like to think that I deserve to be treated rudely. It seems inconsiderate, thoughtless, careless, hurtful. Everything that is not kind.

The pastor who presented this challenge said that rudeness affected him in the same way that it affects me. But he challenged himself to view an experience of rudeness as an invitation to show kindness, and not necessarily to the one who was rude. And this is what he does. When he encounters rudeness, it reminds him to be kind to another.

I like this invitation. I want to do the same. Because rudeness is the opposite of kind, I want the rude encounter to remind of kindness. I want to get a bigger picture of kindness. I want to know what kindness is in my heart and not just in my head. Seeing rudeness will show me what kindness is not and thereby show me what it is.

So, I have decided to permit rudeness to be an invitation to extend a kindness. I want rudeness to make me kindly aware, to move me into a kinder place, to be a kinder person.

Art: Kindness card

Breath of the Divine

2010-05-06T18:28:00.000-07:00

Recently, I have been paying attention to my breathing. It feels good to breathe and to notice it. I have been doing a bit of yogic breathing. Giving it a try. And I like it. I find that when I am breathing purposefully, I don't think about much else. Just the breathing. And as I think about the breathing or rather purposefully breathe, I also notice my body. The breath in my body. I notice where it is going as I inhale and exhale. I visualize its movement and sense it in my body.

So this breathing has made me aware of my body in a new way. One such way that has caught my attention is that my body generates energy. Now, I knew that. But sensing it is different than knowing that it is there. And there is something divinely amazing in the sensing of it, particularly as it is joined with breathing.

The image of God breathing into the first humans fascinates me. What is this breath of God? God's breath brought them to life. Energized them into being. But what is this energy? Certainly, I understand the chemistry and the physiology, but I am thinking about something else. Something more potent. Something more profound. Something more spiritual, more divine. I am wondering about this aura that surrounds me and is in me.

It pulses. It tingles. It vibrates. It seems to be alive. It is more than just a scientific explanation of bodily processes. It is something from God, something that came from the breath of God, something that is now part of me and is me. It is the breath of the Divine that makes me, me. And so I breath. I breathe Earth's air, and I breathe God's breath. And we are together. Earth and Heaven. Heaven and Earth.

Art

Earth to Heaven

2010-05-05T17:45:00.000-07:00

Reaching for the divine

From the center of my being

From the root of who I am

From the earth's ground

Upward to God's space

Connected

Earth to heaven

Heaven to Earth

Art: Thin Threads by Susan Storey

Dream Weavings--The Spread Inside the Back Cover

2010-04-30T11:22:00.000-07:00

This is the inside of the back cover of my altered book, Dream Weavings. The images represent those that appeared often in my dreams from 2009. Working with them in a physical way was extremely satisfying. It brought them into focus, and I became aware of those that seemed more important than others.

Although this book has been finished for some time now, I continue to visit it and pause over the images. It is a reflection of my inner spaces, and perusing it now and again allows me to discover what some of those interior formations are and how they are looking in the present.

Altering books with a thematic perspective is a gift from God to me. One that is highly treasured.

The Sacred Journey by Charles Foster

2010-04-27T13:32:00.001-07:00

The Sacred Journey is about taking a walk, a long walk, otherwise known as a pilgrimage. But this is no metaphorical journey. This is not a book about having the heart of a pilgrim while staying home. For the author, the sacred journey is literal, on your feet, in your shoes, and going.

After reading the first few chapters, I had to set the book aside, not because it is hard to read or boring. It is neither of those. I set it aside because I was offended. I resisted the idea that God favors the nomad. I let those early chapters wrestle with me for a time and then renewed my reading of it.

By the end, the author had persuaded me to believe that there is nothing like a good pilgrimage to discover the richness and fullness of the kingdom of God. It may be that the author’s wry wit, numerous quotes, scriptural references, and personal stories convinced me, or it may be that what he wrote eventually resonated with my own “walking spirit.”

Whatever the case, this is not one of those typical “journey” books that makes a person feel good about their own spiritual formation. For this reason, I say read it and be challenged to risk the taking of a walk.

Disclosure of Material Connection: I received this book free from Thomas Nelson Publishers as part of their BookSneeze.com book review bloggers program.

Boulders, Rocks, Cliffs

2010-04-27T11:45:00.000-07:00

This final spread from my altered book, Dream Weavings, reflects the dreamscapes that included boulders, rocks, and cliffs. The work on these pages is rough and shredded. As I worked on them, I cut and tore and uncovered the underlying layers. It feels edge-y and not at all neat, but it is my favorite spread.

Its edge-ness is solid, challenging, difficult, but not so. There are handholds and footholds and places for resting and waiting. There is a sense of stability and upward movement.

The threads of the dream catcher are not so tidy. They wrap here, snag there, weave in and out among the pillars. But they have caught what is good in this dream. Boulders, rocks, and cliffs are immoveable. They are an imposing presence, but they can be climbed. There is a way over or around.

These solid images are not intimidating; instead, they are firm, enduring, strong, and trustworthy. So being in edge-y places invites me to explore these edges, to grasp them, feel them, sit among them, and let them become for me places of fortitude and solid endurance.

Water, Water, Water

2010-04-26T12:16:00.000-07:00

This spread from my altered book, Dream Weavings, represents water dreamscapes. Water appeared in my dreams in many forms. As oceans, wide or narrow rivers, shallow streams, trickling springs, waterfalls, natural pools, rain puddles, from sink faucets, and shower heads. Sometimes I am in the water. Sometimes I am avoiding the water. Sometimes I am diving in or stomping through or walking around the water. Sometimes it is frightening and sometimes it is inviting. Sometimes deep and dangerous and sometimes just deep. Other times shallow.

Jeremy Taylor writes that water in dreams symbolizes the emotions. In scripture, water washes and cleans. Maybe it is both. Maybe water invites the dreamer to explore the emotions and to be washed and healed by them. Or maybe by giving the emotions permission to be deep or shallow, the soul, too, has permission to feel them and be in them. Perhaps by diving into the emotional deep, the soul is made well and whole, refreshed and restored.

A friend who shares my artistic space commented on this spread. It frightened her. Admittedly, it is somewhat dark. There is nothing to which to cling. It tosses and carries and threatens to drown, to kill. This is the scary part of the emotional deep. It requires deep feeling, sometimes painful. In some cases, it is death. Death to what stirs them and gives them power. This death feels like drowning. But without death, there is no life. And so, the waters must drown what needs to die so that something new can be born out of them.

For me, the dream catcher on this spread has captured what is good from this watery dreamscape. It is the scrubbing power that water has. From the catcher, I attached sea glass. It is polished and smooth. Sharp edges are rounded. This is what emotions have done for me. They clean me, smooth me, round me. They are powerful forces that must be given expression. If I drown in them, it is so that something else might live. This power that comes from the deepness of the emotions is a gift from God.

Why fear what is of God? Why fear the dying of what brings life? Why fear the healing power of the emotional deep? And so it is that fear accompanies the invitation of the watery dreamscape. It is an invitation to death and life. To emotional washing. Soul cleaning.

The Resurrected Shepherd

2010-04-25T15:57:00.000-07:00

This is the fourth Sunday in the Easter season. It continues the celebration begun Easter morning. It is a spirited season, a joyful season, a season that knows something wonderful has happened, is happening, and will continue to happen. It is a season that is happy about the past, enjoys the present, yet longs for the future.

It is a season of white and gold, pink flowers, and alleluia banners. It is a season to sing Up From the Grave and read from Revelation 7. It is a season to reflect on the Good Shepherd and what it means to follow the leading. It is a good season to be a follower, a follower of Jesus, a follower of the Resurrected One.

I say this because in the following, I learn what it means to be a resurrected person. In the following, I learn the significance of death and the power of new life. In the following, I learn the meaning of burial and the walking out of the tomb. In the following of a resurrected Shepherd, I learn to trust a leading over spacious fields, through running waters, into dark caves, through open gates, and onto untrod pathways.

I may not know where I am going, but I nibble and drink along the way. I rest and gaze. Kick up my heels or stumble. Run or walk. But always following, following and trusting. The Resurrected Shepherd leads along the good way, and there I am learning to be resurrected too.

Doors, Window, Doors

2010-04-24T11:22:00.000-07:00

"Doors, Windows, Doors" is the title of this page spread in my altered book on dreamscapes. As I worked on this spread, I was struck by the lightness of all the doors and windows. They are clean and washed and bright and inviting.

The most obvious symbolism here is opportunity, the invitation to walk through an opening and into something else. Less obvious, but more meaningful is the idea of freedom, safety, and choosing. In the process of creating this spread, I realized that these are safe doors and windows. They allow me to look out into the new landscape. They give me permission to go out and to come in. I can leave and return as I choose. They offer the security of a safe return but encourage exploration beyond their safety.

As in my "Dry, Empty, Barren" spread, the dream weaving is here to capture what is good from this dreamscape. It has snagged for me the freedom of a door and a window. They are invitations to the unknown. They swing inwardly or outwardly depending upon their design. They close up and provide safety. They open wide and offer risk. I choose. That is my freedom.

These are God's doors and windows. They are perfectly placed, christened, and carved by the Carpenter's hands.

Dry, Barren, Empty

2010-04-23T10:31:00.000-07:00

This is the first page spread in my Dream Weavings altered book. The title of this spread is "Dry, Empty, Barren," and it represents a thematic dreamscape that appeared in many of my dreams last year.

As I created this page, I was struck by how open and free it felt. I also noticed the layers and the warmth of the colors. So although my dreamscapes were dry and empty, I find that on the page they are inviting and not at all barren.

The dream catcher symbolizes the capturing of what is good from this dreamscape. So the process of working with this dreamscape has shown me that dry and empty is not barren. There is warmth and energy in places that only seem empty on the surface.

Quotes for Earth Day

2010-04-22T09:30:00.000-07:00

Only when the last tree has died

and the last river been poisoned

and the last fish been caught

will we realize we cannot eat money.
- Cree Indian Proverb

The earth is what we all have in common.

- Wendell Berry Author, farmer, cultural critic

We do not inherit the earth from our ancestors,
we borrow it from our children.
- Native American Proverb

Earth provides enough to satisfy every man's need,
but not every man's greed.
- Mahatma Gandhi 1869-1948

To see a world in a grain of sand,
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour.
- William Blake Poet, painter 1757-1827

Dream Weavings--The Spread Inside the Front Cover

2010-04-21T16:14:00.000-07:00

This is the inside of the front cover of my altered book on dreamscapes. I did this spread after I had done the inside pages. It represents those images that were recurring themes in many of my dreams from 2009.

Creating this collage pressed me to think about the images and their meanings for me, not only in my dreams but also in my waking life. The process of putting the images together on the page brought feelings and meanings that intuitively felt right and satisfying.

Working on this book gave expression to parts of me that do not succumb to the analytical mind. I found that honoring my dreams in this way was rewarding and gave rise to small surprises and expected happiness.

Dream Weavings

2010-04-20T12:53:00.000-07:00

This is the cover of Dream Weavings. It is an altered book that reflects the dreamscapes from my 2009 dream journal. One of the things that I did last year was note recurring themes from my dreams. Particularly noticeable were certain dreamscapes, that is the setting of the dream or the landscape of the dream. Themes emerged. And I was intrigued by them, so I decided to alter a book based upon these themes. What I will be posting over the next few days is what came of my reflections on these dreamscape themes.

Engaging the Surprise

2010-04-19T16:37:00.000-07:00

A couple of weeks ago, a surprise greeted me at the fitness center. I have been participating in various classes to see whether they and I are a good match for exercise. I love yoga and enjoyed the step aerobics. One week, I missed aerobics, so I decided to try something new--body sculpt.

I entered the classroom, went to the instructor, and said that I was new to the class but wanted to try it. I didn't notice the mounted bags sitting around the room until the instructor replied, "Oh okay, you can borrow these. They're clean." She promptly tossed padded gloves on top of one of the bags.

It dawned on me that this didn't seem to be body sculpting. I went out of the room and checked the schedule. What I thought was going to be one thing was going to be something unexpected--circuit contact kickboxing. I was too embarrassed to go in and say that I had changed my mind. So I went back in and pulled the gloves over my hands.

The surprise came with the first few punches. I liked it. I punched harder and kicked harder. I focused on the bag and beat it. It felt good. Therapeutic. I thought I would be a wimp, poop out, and look foolish. But I didn't. I kept up. I worked hard. I was satisfied with myself.

There is something good about engaging with the surprise, even the scary ones. The surprise may be a surprise. In this case the surprise came in multiples. I was surprised that I had committed to a class that I would not have considered trying. Seeing the gloves surprised me and shook my insecure self. Finding that I liked beating a bag surprised me. And being that fit surprised me. So one small error on my part became a source of many surprises--happy surprises.

Surprises change us, stretch us, move us, transform us. That is why God uses them. Our part is to notice them and engage with them. They are an invitation to find the surprise within the surprise.

The Restlessness of Dying

2010-04-18T16:03:00.000-07:00

Some hospice patients tend to be restless. They say that they want to go somewhere. They want to be in a different place. They want to move. It is as though the spirit knows that she is on her way to another place and wants the body to take her there. It seems to be a way to prepare for going.

We think of death as leaving. The spirit leaves the body. The dead person leaves others behind her. But the restlessness seems to describe death as going. The dying process is a "going" journey. With the nearness of death, the spirit seems to remember that there is another place. It is that place from which she came and is now anxious to return.

It is as though the spirit is trying to loosen herself from the body so that she can go, so that she can move into another place. She has been resting in the body and now that the body is failing, she becomes restless for that other home. She wants to go back, back to the One who gave her the temporary home in this physical world.

She wants to continue living. And so, it is this restlessness that signals movement. It is the going from a corrupted home to living with the One who will give her a new home in the resurrection. The restlessness of dying is the going, going toward another resting place, a restful and resurrected home.

On the Dying Breath

2010-04-16T20:33:00.000-07:00

In my previous post, I mentioned that I provide respite care for hospice patients. And as a result of this care, I have been thinking about breathing. For the dying person, breathing is what continues to give the body life. Sometimes this breathing is labored, and sometimes it is shallow, barely discernible. The person may be weak and almost comatose, but the breath remains.

Watching patients as they breathe reminds me of the Genesis account of God's breathing into the Adam and the man's becoming a living being. And I am reminded of the first breath of a child outside of the womb. It is the breath that gives life for living in the created world. The body remains animated as long as this breathing continues. But this same breathing brings death on the final exhale.

The breath is the first and the last. The first breath is the inhale and the last breath is the exhale. The breath that God breathed into the living person returns to the Source of the first breath. The first breath is life, the last breath is death.

When Jesus was dying, his final words were ". . . into your hands I commit my spirit," and he breathed his last breath. With the breath, went the spirit. And so, as I reflect on the breathing of the dying patient, wonder seizes me. The wonder comes as I realize that I am witness to a process that ends with the human spirit returning to the One Who Breathed First.

Art: Breath of God by Pamela Dunmire

On Dying

2010-04-15T12:37:00.003-07:00

Recently, I have been struck by the frailty and weakness of the human body. As a hospice volunteer, I sit with dying people once a week for four hours at a time. Often these people are so weak that there is no lengthy conversation or animated gestures. They are tired and sleepy, sometimes agitated and restless but always moving toward death just as we all are. The difference is that theirs is nearer than how we want to envision ours.

Being present to the dying offers a tender view on the human condition. It brings the need for an intervening Creator into focus and enlarges the efforts made by our Creator to do something about our condition. I want to believe that my tender feelings are a reflection of God’s. I want to believe that my grieving for a degraded creation mirrors in a small way that of God’s.

As I feel my own tenderness pressing outward from my center, I am forced to reflect on the big-heartedness of God. I see only a fragment of the dying, a pinhead of a dying-world picture, but God has seen from the beginning and continues to see all of it, in every place. What a massive store of tenderness to be present always to frailty, weakness, and death!

On Joy

2010-04-11T16:39:00.000-07:00

Today, I felt the joy of the second Sunday of the Easter season. It felt alive. I felt alive. Everything about Sunday's service felt celebratory. The sanctuary, the white and gold fabrics, the candles--all were dancing and rejoicing. It was as though fresh air, a fresh breath had blown in and replaced the dark heaviness of the Lenten season. The transformative joy of Easter Sunday has sprung to life and lingers over all the world.

Art: The Alchemy of Joy by Mara Friedman

Sacred Feminine

2010-04-10T16:42:00.000-07:00

Just thinking about the sacred feminine and wondering why it is that so many fear it or resent it.

Life Follows Death

2010-04-04T01:27:00.000-07:00

The Light follows Darkness,

Singing follows Silence,

Healing follows Brokenness,

Life follows Death.

Resurrection Day at Last

Waiting

2010-04-02T20:15:00.000-07:00

And so we wait . . . in silence, in darkness, in brokenness.

The Deep Breath of Holy Week

2010-03-31T21:48:00.000-07:00

The deep breath of Holy Week is building momentum. It is the silence before a hailstorm. It is the darkness before a downpour. I feel the momentum building in my soul, and I fear the rain of the next two days.

I fear the emotions that will rise when the colors of the altar are removed and the candles extinguished and emptiness and darkness fill the sanctuary. It will be as though the life of the Lenten season has withered and died. And that is the whole point of this week--to come to the end of it in mourning, but I fear that I will cry. I will cry as if there is no hope, no life, no resurrection. And in that moment, what I will truly be fearing is that hopelessness, that lifelessness.

But I embrace this fear, this moment of hopelessness and lifelessness. I embrace it because it brings a gift. It brings the gift of One Who Is Resurrected. And this Resurrected One brings a new kind of hope and a new kind of life. It brings the dawning of not just a new day but a new week. The sun after the dark clouds. The rainbow after the hailstones.

So breathe deeply, O Holy Week, I embrace the end in order to find the beginning.

"Do to Others?"

2010-03-30T16:50:00.000-07:00

Throughout this Lenten season, something that Jesus said has been coming back to me. "Do to others what you want them to do to you." This has been begging a hard question for me. What do I want others to do to me? Do I always want others to be nice, to be kind, to be thoughtful? I think I do, but then I wonder about the truth.

Do I want to know the truth? Is telling the truth always nice, kind, thoughtful? Do I want to be left to my own devices without interference? Do I want what is difficult and challenging? And if so, how do I want it presented? And would others want it presented in the same way that I would?

And then there is Jesus as he calls some people "white-washed tombs" and "dirty cups." Does this mean that it's okay to be a bit rude with the truth as long as I am willing to receive the same if necessary? And then there is that scandalous scene in the temple where Jesus is throwing people's things around and brandishing a whip. I wonder if any of the disciples were thinking about "Do to others . . . in that moment of shocking behavior?

I know that we can all justify Jesus's actions here, but it doesn't negate that he said this and did that. I'm just sayin'. There is more to consider here than just a saying that serves our purposes.

On the surface, "Do to others . . . " seems a soft quote from scripture when it is convenient. But my recent experience of it says that this is not some buttery saying that is easily spread into my life. It is a hard saying that has no this-is-how-you-do-it practical applications.

Hmmmm . . . living the Lenten life . . . not so smooth.

Singing Stones

2010-03-29T13:14:00.000-07:00

When Jesus entered Jerusalem and the people were spreading their coats and the palm branches and shouting Hosanna, some jealous persons told Jesus to tell them to stop. But instead of complying, Jesus tells those jealous individuals that if the people stopped shouting, the stones would cry out.

I love this. Jesus isn't embarrassed by all this attention. He knows that it is "fate." If I may use that ill-favored word. In his mind, it seems that the people were doing what was necessary and that if the people didn't do it, something else would. In this case, creation would praise the divine when humans failed to do so.

This makes me think that there is something "innate" in all of creation that knows when something significant is about to happen or is happening, and that if humans fail to recognize it or acknowledge it, the "innate-ness" of the other will fill that void.

Just thinking out loud here. If the stones had begun to cry out as a result of human silence, I wonder if anyone would have noticed, would have heard, would have wondered at the meaning of singing stones.

The Last Day

2010-03-27T16:24:00.001-07:00

Today is the last day before Holy Week. It feels sad and gloomy even though the sun is shining. It seems to be foretelling the darkness of Good Friday. It brings to mind Jesus and causes me to wonder what might have been in his mind as he prepared to enter Jerusalem for the Passover.

Was he thinking about the donkey and palm branches? Or am I projecting my own thoughts onto him? I am thinking about that procession—the Palm Sunday procession. How will I feel? Will I be happy or will I be sad? Will my response be spontaneous or planned and prepared?

What of those who laid the branches on the path for Jesus? Did they have branches with them ahead of time or was it a spontaneous response to seeing Jesus?

Was Jesus surprised or was he expecting this greeting as he entered Jerusalem?

I imagine I could speculate on the matter, but I would rather be present in this moment of reflective preparation for Holy Week. Palm Sunday—a day for palms and processions and for celebrating an entry into sacrifice and death. I want to be both prepared and spontaneous. I want to celebrate the coming sadness and ultimate happiness that comes at the end of the week.

So I will be sad and gloomy even with the sun shining on this last day before Holy Week.

Movement and Counter-Movement

2010-03-25T15:45:00.000-07:00

There are moments when life reaches a plateau. It seems that nothing new is happening. The routine becomes drudgery. The days drag too quickly and nothing seems to get done. The new is old. The rituals are tedious. Plans are life-less. And the sound of wind and rain makes the brain soggy and the body sleepy. It feels like the final slap on the alarm before the great uprising of spring's energy.

Spiritual transformation is like this. There is a darkness before the birthing of light. There is a sadness before the outbreak of joy. What was must be remade. What no longer works must be reformed. There is death before the bringing of life. Sleep precedes waking. Suffering precedes healing.

For every movement in transformation, there is a counter-movement. It seems there is no other way to be whole, to be complete. This is the work of the Spirit: Movement and Counter-Movement.

Photography: Courtesy of Dr. Laura Simmons (Copyright owner)

On Loneliness

2010-03-23T17:53:00.000-07:00

Yesterday's Lenten reading was an uncanny experience. It was one of those this-is-unbelievable moments, one of those how-did-this-happen moments. I had been lying on my bed with my journal doing a bit of reflecting on my day and my present state of mind. It was a reflective prayer. My thoughts and feelings in this reflective moment? Loneliness.

I was feeling extremely lonely and contemplating what it meant for me to be experiencing such a deep loneliness. It was as though nothing in the world could satisfy or appease this loneliness. I began to wonder if I had eaten something that disturbed my hormones or upset my mental state. I wondered if I was unsettled because of the change in weather or because spring had come. It may be that all of these things were affecting my mood. But then I began to think about people.

I wasn't thinking about just some people, but all people. There was a longing for people, for something more than what exists between people who know each other or love each other or are acquainted with each other or are intimate with each other. It was a longing for something deeper, for something more long lasting, more meaningful. I couldn't really put the kind of longing that I felt into words, but there it was--a sense of wanting to be one with all of humanity but knowing the distance that separates all of us. It came to me as loneliness.

And then I picked up From Fear to Love by Henri Nouwen and opened to the Lenten reading for the day. There was the title, "Lonely with God." I write it here for you to read:

"The more you come to know God, the lonelier you may become because your heart is too small to contain the love of God. You move into a 'second loneliness,' a very painful time that often springs from the loss of an important relationship or dream. Only in that place of pain can you discover a much deeper sense of belonging that is more intimate than any belonging the world can offer. It comes from the depths of loneliness and moves us to true 'communion' with God. What you may first experience as the highest level of separation may be revealed to you as the highest level of becoming one with the human family.

Mysteriously, it is within the experience of alienation where the greatest loneliness and the greatest solidarity with the human condition come together. When we experience our loneliness as a call to be deeply connected with the human race, we are growing to become more like the father in the parable, and more like the Father Divine."

I reread these words three times. I can't explain how these words happened to be the reading of the day, or how it is they spoke exactly to the loneliness of the moment. But I believe that it was one of those mysterious God things that takes us by surprise and causes an internal shift that changes us forever.

God came right down onto the page and said, "Lisa, this is a normal spiritual experience. Be in the moment and feel the loneliness. It is the loneliness of humanity."

The Great Breath

2010-03-18T13:32:00.000-07:00

In yesterday's Lenten reading in From Fear to Love, Nouwen says that the Holy Spirit is God's breath. This image captures my imagination, and I see God rhythmically breathing on the world. I hear the in and the out of the breathing. I feel the movement of this breath under my feet, over my hands, around my head, within my heart.

And I can imagine myself, with each breath, breathing in the breath of God and breathing it back out again onto those around me. I sense the breath of God mingling with my own breath, and we are united as one in the breath. Connected. God and I breathing together as one.

The breath of God gives life to my soul and to my spirit. This is the first breath. It is the breath breathed into Adam and Eve. It is the first breath of the animated soul. It is the breath that keeps me spiritually alive. It is the breath that whispers the nearness of the Great Presence that fills the universe.

It is the Great Breath that calls me to breath along with the breath of God.

Art by Flahorn

Stewarding Presence

2010-03-16T12:06:00.000-07:00

Stewarding presence--I read these words yesterday. Admittedly, I have not really thought much about stewarding my presence. As a spiritual director and minister in spiritual formation, I know that being present is important. Being present in the moment is a catch phrase for those in formational practices.

But being present and actually being consciously aware of how I am stewarding my presence seem to be two different things. I can be present without stewarding my presence. Simply being present doesn't mean that I am a steward of it.

What does it mean to be a steward of something? I had to think about this. The word, steward, brings to mind the tending of a thing or purposefully taking care of a thing or being in charge of a thing for another's benefit.

So how would stewarding my presence look in any given situation? I imagine it would depend upon the situation. But in general, I think that it would mean not just being present, but being present with intention. It would mean being intentionally present for the benefit of the other in the situation or being mindful of how my presence is tending or caring of the other or the situation itself.

Stewarding my presence connotes a presence that is more than just aware. It is intentional in its purpose for being present. It is being disciplined in my presence. It requires effort and conscious engagement. It is responsible presence.

Lately, I have noticed that I have not been as intentional with my presence. I have become too familiar with my directees, and I have needed this reminder that I must be a steward of my presence. And not only when I am working, but in all the moments in which I am present.

Spiritual Mindlessness

2010-03-14T15:52:00.001-07:00

“The average person looks without seeing, listens without hearing, touches without feeling, eats without tasting, moves without physical awareness, inhales without awareness of odor or fragrance, and talks without thinking.”

Leonardo da Vinci

This morning I heard a phrase that grabbed my attention: spiritual mindlessness. It was used with regard to things that hinder us from hearing God’s voice. Usually when I think about the hindrances to hearing the voice of God, not paying attention comes to mind or neglect or distracted. But mindlessness? It caught me by surprise. I wrote it down. I looked it up in the dictionary.

Mindless: boring—uninteresting because it requires little mental effort; purposeless—having no apparent purpose or rational cause; unconcerned—not careful or concerned.

Mindlessness is one of those bad habits we develop when we are too familiar with something. So here is the question. Have I become so familiar with God that I am spiritually mindless?

I don’t like this term mindlessness. It bothers me. It smacks of empty-headedness. I want to flick my cheek and sarcastically say, “Are you in there?” It tells me that I have been missing something important. It reminds me that I have a disengagement habit, a too-easily-familiar-with-God habit, an unconcerned-with-where-God-is-in-the-moment habit. I have an empty head that is filled with everything except mindfulness of God.

This is not to say that there have never been moments of mindfulness. In those moments, a remarkable thing happens. When I am mindful of God in the moment, God fills up the space and there is no room for mindlessness. Everything is full and filled. There is no room for anything else.

But when I am mindless, there is always room for something else to jump in and cram up the space. Mindlessness is never full or filled, but there is never room for mindfulness of God because when there is God mindfulness, there is no room for mindlessness.

I do not want to be so familiar with God that I am spiritually mindless. I want to be mindful of an unfamiliar God who fills me up, wakes me up, and shakes me up with mild surprises that take me deeper into the mysterious kingdom of God.

Art by Leonardo da Vinci

The Satisfaction of Choosing Less

2010-03-13T19:37:00.001-08:00

As I move through Lent, I have tried to limit myself to 1000 calories each day. Noting calories makes me acutely aware of the number of calories in foods, and I have become cautious when it comes to eating. I eat about five-six small portions of food spread throughout the day. As the weeks go by, I realize that I want more food. I am no longer satisfied with the 100-200 calorie meals. Admittedly, there were a couple of days that I ate too many calories in one meal. And I felt it. It was too much food all at once after being used to eating in small doses.

I prefer the small doses. I feel more alert and oddly stronger. When I ate the higher calorie meal, I felt weighted and sluggish and uncomfortable. The strange thing is that I didn’t learn the first time that I did it because I did it a second time and felt just as sluggish and uncomfortable. I know this says something about my self-disciplinary habits, but for this post, I am thinking in a different direction.

Here it is. I notice that eating fewer calories each time that I eat has trained me to notice what I am eating and how much of it that I am eating. My body and mind are being trained to pay attention to what is satisfying and what is enough. I have become aware of what it takes to satisfy my hunger. The less I eat, the less that is needed to satisfy me. Rather paradoxical.

Before this Lenten exercise of eating about 1000 calories a day, I would eat wantonly. Whatever I wanted to eat, I ate. Whenever I wanted to eat, I ate. And as much as I wanted to eat, I ate. I was somewhat aware of my eating habits, but they were of no concern to me. I now realize that having so much food available had the effect of numbing my sense of what is satisfying and of what is enough.

So what is the spiritual application here? For me, I like the idea of being satisfied with less. And I like the idea of being consciously aware of making those lesser choices for the purpose of being satisfied. This speaks of simplicity. There is a longing that desires a simpler life, but the fatness of life diminishes my awareness and numbs my sense of what it takes to be satisfied.

I like learning that choosing less is a path to satisfaction and fullness.

On Pain and Compassion

2010-03-11T13:15:00.000-08:00

Last night as I was reflecting on compassion, I had a thought that had to do with pain and suffering. It seems to me that without pain and suffering, there would be no compassion. It is the prick of pain that awakens compassion.

The compassion that awakens is for oneself, for others, and for the created world. Genuine compassion is birthed out of the hurt that is felt as a deep ache in the soul. It is not self-pity or the kind of thinking that surrounds a martyr complex.

Self-pity and martyr thinking is centered around feeling sorry for oneself. Martyrs think that their pain and suffering is the result of what everyone else is doing. Martyrs see themselves as good people who don't deserve to suffer the way that they are suffering. They are doing right while others do them wrongly.

The problem with this is that martyrs and those engaging in self-pity have no sense of their own brokenness in their suffering situations. They would rather focus on the other. There can be no compassion for the other because martyrs are stuck feeling that they are justified in feeling badly. They don't step beyond self-pity to see what God might be doing in this place of pain.

Compassion feels pain but does not blame or justify. Compassion awakens when it is allowed to live and thrive in the heart of the one feeling pain. Compassion arises when pain is realized as a reality in a broken world and accepted as a normal way of experiencing life. Giving pain permission to be a part of our lives without fighting against it, invites compassion to exist side by side with the pain.

This is the Christian way: pain and compassion, compassion and pain.

Art: Skies of Compassion http://fineartamerica.com/

On Noise

2010-03-09T16:28:00.000-08:00

Lately, I have been noticing noise. I like silence, but most folks seem to like noise, even need noise. I find myself becoming annoyed and irritated when I need a bit of quiet and everywhere I go, there is noise.

Either it is the TV or the radio or the CD player. Noise is pumped into the grocery store, the fitness center, the roadways, the sidewalks, and under the trees in parks.

When there is no noise, there are those who seem to think that the silence is an invitation to chatter or to turn something on to make noise.

What is it about silence that frightens people? How is it that they are unable to be alone with themselves? Is God in the noise? And if so, where?

When I am on noise overload, I comprehend nothing and a sense of agitation brews deeply. It is not a contemplative or meditative space. Is this what drives God into the recesses of the human soul? Is the God-space filled with noise?

Noise Art from lab.ma77os.com

Hidden Resentment

2010-03-06T07:45:00.001-08:00

Over the past two days, I have been thinking about resentment. In my Lenten readings, Henri Nouwen writes in From Love to Fear that “resentment is probably one of the most pervasive evils of our time.” He also says that it is the pitfall of those faithful and obedient people who do the right thing. The danger of resentment is that it settles deep within the heart and is unnoticed by those who harbor it.

So I have been reflecting on where resentment may have settled in my heart. I don’t think of myself as a resentful person, but that is the danger of it. It hides behind the “appearance of a holy life.” If I am honest with myself, I hold resentment. And surprisingly, some of my resentments are not against people, but against situations or conditions.

For example, the house in which I live has a number of structural issues and mold and mildew problems. I resent these problems. I resent the house. I resent having to live in it.

So I must ask myself how does this type of resentment affect my spiritual life? My emotional life? My physical life? I am not free from resentment.

But better to acknowledge my resentments than to be lost in them and not know it. So I ask you:

What resentments are hiding in your heart?

Art: http://www.rostragallery.co.uk

Thy Kingdom Connected

2010-03-03T15:00:00.001-08:00

Today's post is a book review:

Thy Kingdom Connected by Dwight J. Friesen

Dwight J. Friesen in his book, Thy Kingdom Connected, discusses the paradigm shift that is taking place in today’s world and how this shift translates into God’s networked kingdom. And he invites his readers to reimagine the church in this networked kingdom.

To do this, Friesen uses metaphors and illustrations from modern technology and network theory. At times, I found myself getting lost in the metaphors; but by the end of any one chapter, I was able to understand the connections that Friesen is making as he uses them. He does a good job of bringing together the metaphors and his vision of the church in God’s networked kingdom.

Friesen also uses numerous examples to illustrate what he is communicating. They are real-life stories that describe what Friesen means when he uses new terminology such as a “Christ-Commons” or “Christ-Clusters.” I appreciated these illustrations because they enabled me to get a vision of the reimagined church. And I liked the inventive, networked kingdom terminology that Friesen uses to describe the reimagined church.

As a minister in spiritual formation and a spiritual director, I found that Thy Kingdom Connected challenged me to rethink my own ministry and how it fits into the networked kingdom of God. In addition to the questions that Friesen poses at the end of each chapter, there were other questions that I was asking myself.

I began to imagine myself as part of a networked ministry. I wondered who were the “hubs” in my network. I thought about the sharing and receiving of information. I am considering the meaning of being a “missional and’er” and am trying to discern my links.

Although these new questions that arose from my reading challenge me to reimagine my ministry, Thy Kingdom Connected also affirmed for me some of the ideas that have been rolling around in my head for some time.

Thy Kingdom Connected is easy to read. For anyone wanting to be on the edge of missional church, I recommend reading this book.

The Loneliness of Presence

2010-03-01T11:06:00.001-08:00

In one of the Lenten readings by Nouwen in From Fear to Love, the subject of loneliness is discussed. He says that there are two kinds of loneliness. And I have been thinking about the second kind—it is the kind that one feels when longing for God. Nouwen uses the words of St. John of the Cross and calls this kind of loneliness the dark night of the soul.

For myself, the loneliness speaks of the distance that exists between my Creator and me—the result of being separated, of being disconnected, of not being one. There is a longing for closeness that seems just out of reach. It is not the kind of loneliness that comes from needing interaction or conversation. It is the kind of loneliness that comes from recognizing that something is lost or lacking or missing. It is the kind of loneliness that comes from not being whole or complete and knowing that there is that One who is the missing piece. It is the loneliness that realizes that something is just within reach but is unable to grasp it.

It is the loneliness of Presence. I can be present and in the Presence, but the Presence is elusive and dark. It is a loneliness that knows the Presence is near, but it is not quite near enough. There is no earthly cure for this kind of loneliness. It is the predicament of the human soul, the human heart.

Photo: http://lonelypierot.deviantart.com

Body and Spirit Praying

2010-02-28T13:48:00.000-08:00

There is a song that I, along with the rest of the congregation, have been singing in Sunday services during this Lenten season. We sing this same song as a response song during a Wednesday Lenten contemplative service. The repeating refrain is “Lord, have mercy on us.”

When it comes time to sing it, I cry. Not a bawling out loud cry, but a weeping of the heart. Tears come, but there is a deeper weeping that wants noticing. It is a weeping that hurts. It hurts my insides. My chest aches, my throat tightens, and my belly stirs. Sometimes, my words are whispered spasms as they reflect the responses of my body. And sometimes, I must simply be silent and allow my body to do all the praying.

It seems that my body knows its need for mercy and cries out in its own bodily way. There is a kind of head knowledge that knows about mercy and the need for it. But the body, my body, experiences this need in a physical way and invites me to notice it, to give it space, to welcome its cry.

As I welcome my body’s cry for mercy, I am reminded that these groaning and wordless moments belong to the Holy Spirit. There is no need for words because the Spirit will express for me what I am unable to say. This is praying in the Spirit. This is praying in the body. Body and Spirit praying. It is the place where heaven and earth touch. A sacred space. A thin place. A body and Spirit place.

Random Thoughts on "First Love"

2010-02-24T17:51:00.001-08:00

Since Monday’s Lenten reading and my previous blog post dated February 23, I have been reflecting on the human condition regarding love. As I began to think about my own relationships, I had to admit that I want to love unconditionally but I don’t. I want to reflect that “first love” that Nouwen describes; but inevitably, I fail. And I find myself expecting others to love me with a “first love,” but they give only a second love.

So I thought about what it means to be loved unconditionally with the “first love” of God. And I had to ask myself this question: Am I expecting others to love me unconditionally because I don’t really believe that God does? Or have I not given myself permission to receive that “first love” from God? Am I able to stand in the presence of God and honestly say that I believe that God loves all that I am? Or do I fear that there are parts of me that are not quite acceptable?

Does this fear prevent me from embracing that unconditional love and allowing it to be reflected from me into the lives of others?

Love and Relationships

2010-02-23T10:00:00.000-08:00

Today, I am seriously thinking about yesterday's Lenten reading by Henri Nouwen in From Fear to Love. I am posting it here in full. It will be staying with me for awhile.

"All our struggles in relationships are connected with what I like to call the relationship between the 'first love' and the 'second love.' The first love is from God, who loved us before we were born. The second love is from our parents, brothers, sisters, and friends, and it is only a reflection of that first love. Sometimes we expect from the second love what only the first love can give. Then we experience anguish. My personal struggle has always been that I expected a first love from someone who could only give a second love.

As soon as we demand a first love, an unconditional, total, self-giving love, from another human being, who is limited in ability to give and receive, we will be disappointed. Quite quickly we feel anguish and may even resort to violence because we demand from a person what that person cannot give. The other person has no choice but to back off, pull back, and perhaps feel hurt, angry or guilty."

On Fear

2010-02-19T19:53:00.000-08:00

Thinking today of what it means to be in touch with the ugly places that are hidden deep within my heart. I want God to be in those places; but admittedly, I harbor a bit of fear. It is fear of judgment. It is an unfounded fear, and I know it. So I open myself and make myself vulnerable to the One Who Transforms the ugly places. I do it confessing my fear and receiving mercy.

Have Mercy On Us

2010-02-18T09:40:00.000-08:00

Today I am thinking about the ashes that were on my head yesterday, the words "You came from dust and to dust you will return," and the words of a song that I sang "Have mercy on us."

Ashes: Black, smudged, cold, not attractive. But I saw them on everyone's head, even the small children. We are all marked and smudged, blackened.

"You came from dust and to dust you will return": We all know this, but hearing those words was significant. And hearing those words said to everyone around me made it more clear. We are all in the same predicament: a dying one.

"Have mercy on us": With the ashes on my head and the dust words in my ears, these words brought tears to my eyes. It is a desperate need for a desperate predicament. These are the only words that make sense when wearing ashes.

Ashes

2010-02-17T14:20:00.000-08:00

Today I am thinking about ashes, being lost, being purged with hyssop, and a clean heart.

Ashes: Gray, dusty, remnants of death, remnants of fire.

Being lost: Not knowing the way, a need to be found.

Purged with hyssop: A need for healing, herbal medicine, getting rid of toxins, purifying.

Clean heart: Not soiled, washed, fresh.

This is a good day for thinking about ashes.

Preparing for Lent

2010-02-16T11:14:00.000-08:00

http://www.churchyear.net/lent.html