I read this quote in "The Interior Castle" - the sixteenth century book I've been working my way through for a while now, and it struck me deeply. I'm continuing to ponder as the evening goes on...
"We are so very fond of ourselves and so very careful not to lose any of our rights! Oh, what a great mistake we make! May the Lord in his mercy give us light lest we fall into such darkness."
(Teresa of Avila, The Interior Castle, Fifth Mansion, Chapter 4)
Surrendering. Everything. Even my rights. To Jesus.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Ashes
A little over a year ago, on Ash Wednesday last year (which fell earlier in February than it does this year), I landed in Rome.
As that day drew to a close, two friends and I were able to be part of the last mass marking the day being celebrated in St. Peter's Basillica.
A year and a bit later, I still have very few words for those moments.
To describe what it was to stand in that place, after the trip that was drawing to a close, and mark the beginning of Lent.
To remember the scent of incense that seemed to linger long after it should have drifted away.
To recall how I'd French braided my hair into two separate braids that day, and remember the sensation of the ashes sitting in the part of my hair, resting on my head for the day that followed.
To remember the blessing of standing amidst a deep and holy space with friends.
Much has changed in the year that has followed, and I remain uncertain how I will mark this Lenten season.
But today, today I'm remembering the ashes. The feeling of them on my head, and in my hair. The moments that are too deep for words, but are treasured in my heart.
Today I'm marking again the beginning of a season of fasting, waiting, praying. A season traditionally of preparation for baptism. A season that moves without faltering towards death, and then culminates in the celebration of life.
And so, I will wait and watch and fast and pray. For miracles of joy and hope and restoration. For miracles of resurrection and new life. For peace. And I will remember ashes and dust and let my heart be changed.
As that day drew to a close, two friends and I were able to be part of the last mass marking the day being celebrated in St. Peter's Basillica.
A year and a bit later, I still have very few words for those moments.
To describe what it was to stand in that place, after the trip that was drawing to a close, and mark the beginning of Lent.
To remember the scent of incense that seemed to linger long after it should have drifted away.
To recall how I'd French braided my hair into two separate braids that day, and remember the sensation of the ashes sitting in the part of my hair, resting on my head for the day that followed.
To remember the blessing of standing amidst a deep and holy space with friends.
Much has changed in the year that has followed, and I remain uncertain how I will mark this Lenten season.
But today, today I'm remembering the ashes. The feeling of them on my head, and in my hair. The moments that are too deep for words, but are treasured in my heart.
Today I'm marking again the beginning of a season of fasting, waiting, praying. A season traditionally of preparation for baptism. A season that moves without faltering towards death, and then culminates in the celebration of life.
And so, I will wait and watch and fast and pray. For miracles of joy and hope and restoration. For miracles of resurrection and new life. For peace. And I will remember ashes and dust and let my heart be changed.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Tuesday Morning (Snowing)
We are in the midst of a heavy snowfall warning again. A few inches fell overnight, and were waiting to be brushed off of George when I left the house this morning. It continues to snow steadily, which I'm sure will make the evening commute even "more" fun than the morning one was.
I had a good time with my brother and his girlfriend last night. We sipped our various beverages of choice and chatted about everything from the choir that they both sing in, to their forthcoming busy schedules, to a project my brother is conducting at school during Lent, challenging his peers to give up something they would normally indulge in on a weekly basis (coffee, eating out, buying clothes, movies etc.), and set that money aside to be donated to projects supporting poverty initiatives on a local and international level. While I'm not certain that the project will fit with my own Lenten observance, I am hopeful that I will be able to donate to it, and I'm challenged that my brother has taken the time to challenge his peers to reconsider their consumptive lifestyle.
I'm looking forward to having dinner with Faye tonight. There's always lots of laughter, deep conversation, and fantastic stories when we manage to connect, and I'm delighted that we've somehow managed to make those connections a bit more regularly of late.
I'm still slogging my way through "The Interior Castle". Translation from Spanish of a work by a sixteenth century nun is not the easiest read ever. I think it's actually been beneficial. But I alternate between having moments where I'm fairly certain my heart is understanding what's being said, and moments where I'm absolutely certain that I have no idea what on earth she's talking about. There are many pages that I read and re-read in a desperate attempt to grasp the concepts being discussed, or at least begin to feel that my heart has absorbed some benefit, even if my head has not. I've set a (flexible) goal of one chapter a day barring engagments which fill my evening. I'm thankful that most of the chapters are ten pages or less, and am continuously amazed at just how long it can take to read those 5-10 pages each evening.
It's Shrove Tuesday, or Fat Tuesday, or Pancake Tuesday today (whichever name you prefer). I probably won't be having pancakes the way I usually do, but I am deeply conscious that Lent begins tomorrow. And that I need to find some quiet space to talk with Jesus about how I'm going to observe the Lenten season this year. I sort of fell pell-mell into it last year, arriving in Rome on Ash Wednesday, and then travelling for the entire first week. Coming home into the readjustment of life after 5 weeks away from routine, and the deep struggles that emerged amidst that. In many ways I feel like that Lenten season of fasting and preparing for death never really ended last year, and I have dreaded the coming deepening as the season officially begins again. And so, I need to find time, today or tomorrow morning, to listen and wait for direction. To seek Jesus and be willing to obey.
I had a good time with my brother and his girlfriend last night. We sipped our various beverages of choice and chatted about everything from the choir that they both sing in, to their forthcoming busy schedules, to a project my brother is conducting at school during Lent, challenging his peers to give up something they would normally indulge in on a weekly basis (coffee, eating out, buying clothes, movies etc.), and set that money aside to be donated to projects supporting poverty initiatives on a local and international level. While I'm not certain that the project will fit with my own Lenten observance, I am hopeful that I will be able to donate to it, and I'm challenged that my brother has taken the time to challenge his peers to reconsider their consumptive lifestyle.
I'm looking forward to having dinner with Faye tonight. There's always lots of laughter, deep conversation, and fantastic stories when we manage to connect, and I'm delighted that we've somehow managed to make those connections a bit more regularly of late.
I'm still slogging my way through "The Interior Castle". Translation from Spanish of a work by a sixteenth century nun is not the easiest read ever. I think it's actually been beneficial. But I alternate between having moments where I'm fairly certain my heart is understanding what's being said, and moments where I'm absolutely certain that I have no idea what on earth she's talking about. There are many pages that I read and re-read in a desperate attempt to grasp the concepts being discussed, or at least begin to feel that my heart has absorbed some benefit, even if my head has not. I've set a (flexible) goal of one chapter a day barring engagments which fill my evening. I'm thankful that most of the chapters are ten pages or less, and am continuously amazed at just how long it can take to read those 5-10 pages each evening.
It's Shrove Tuesday, or Fat Tuesday, or Pancake Tuesday today (whichever name you prefer). I probably won't be having pancakes the way I usually do, but I am deeply conscious that Lent begins tomorrow. And that I need to find some quiet space to talk with Jesus about how I'm going to observe the Lenten season this year. I sort of fell pell-mell into it last year, arriving in Rome on Ash Wednesday, and then travelling for the entire first week. Coming home into the readjustment of life after 5 weeks away from routine, and the deep struggles that emerged amidst that. In many ways I feel like that Lenten season of fasting and preparing for death never really ended last year, and I have dreaded the coming deepening as the season officially begins again. And so, I need to find time, today or tomorrow morning, to listen and wait for direction. To seek Jesus and be willing to obey.
Bringing it to Light
I experienced the truth of this thought from Henri Nouwen about a month ago. Henri doesn't say quite how difficult it can really be to bring things to the light, but I think, in the long run, it's been worth it - that's it's brought a certain degree of freedom.
Bringing Our Secrets into the Light
We all have our secrets: thoughts, memories, feelings that we keep to ourselves. Often we think, "If people knew what I feel or think, they would not love me." These carefully kept secrets can do us much harm. They can make us feel guilty or ashamed and may lead us to self-rejection, depression, and even suicidal thoughts and actions.
One of the most important things we can do with our secrets is to share them in a safe place, with people we trust. When we have a good way to bring our secrets into the light and can look at them with others, we will quickly discover that we are not alone with our secrets and that our trusting friends will love us more deeply and more intimately than before. Bringing our secrets into the light creates community and inner healing. As a result of sharing secrets, not only will others love us better but we will love ourselves more fully.
Bringing Our Secrets into the Light
We all have our secrets: thoughts, memories, feelings that we keep to ourselves. Often we think, "If people knew what I feel or think, they would not love me." These carefully kept secrets can do us much harm. They can make us feel guilty or ashamed and may lead us to self-rejection, depression, and even suicidal thoughts and actions.
One of the most important things we can do with our secrets is to share them in a safe place, with people we trust. When we have a good way to bring our secrets into the light and can look at them with others, we will quickly discover that we are not alone with our secrets and that our trusting friends will love us more deeply and more intimately than before. Bringing our secrets into the light creates community and inner healing. As a result of sharing secrets, not only will others love us better but we will love ourselves more fully.
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