Here is a random assortment of things I'm currently thinking about.
I have an ongoing, friendly argument with my roommate about whether you can eat pancakes and bacon for supper. If I cook pancakes, it's only ever at suppertime. My roommate says that pancakes cannot be eaten for any meal other than breakfast. I had pancakes and bacon for a late supper tonight, and it was extraordinarily satisfying.
Today started off very poorly. I felt ill, and stressed, and defeated. Somehow, as the stress of trying to accomplish a thousand things on a very short deadline at work took over, the illness and the defeat melted away a bit.
I often forget that God is faithful to answer the prayers I cry out on mornings like that - the desperate pleas, even demands, for strength and energy on which to lean.
I was thinking about trust a lot today. It's a word that has come up rather frequently of late. I generally am not a particularly trusting person. I have a lot of hope, but not a lot of trust. I realized, though, that there is one thing that I almost unfailingly trust - that in the moments when I am most exhausted, but still need to meet up with a friend, or a youth kid, and be able to listen and pray and see and exercise discernment, that even in the exhaustion the Lord is faithful to meet with me and give me the strength, energy, words and discernment necessary for that moment. It almost unfailingly leaves the second I leave the person, but is always there in the moments I most need it.
This is a week for slogging. Work is insanely busy, and I will be away for the weekend at a conference for work. (There's nothing like working through a weekend without compensation, and then going right back to the office first thing on Monday morning!) So, I'll push through, and I'll be really glad when the following weekend comes along.
I still haven't caught the mice in my house. But I do definitely have mice. So, I've cleaned my closet, restored order to it (and put things up on little shelves and off the floor), left traps set, and decided to move on with life. We'll keep things clean, keep an eye on our food cupboards for signs that the infestation of rodents has spread, and move on with life.
I'm hoping to buy new glasses sometime in the next couple of weeks. This is an exciting prospect for me, as I've been wearing my current glasses for over five years. I have benefits that will cover $200 of the cost (which will be $400-$500 - for two pairs as I generally get a 2 for 1 deal), which is also helpful. (Just as a random fact, my glasses always cost more than some people's because my vision is wonky. I'm nearsighted in one eye and farsighted in the other. My left eye is also lazy.)
I am so over winter. Over the weekend it got cold here again, and snowed a couple of inches. It's nearly April, warm weather would be much appreciated. I need spring. In fact, I bought daisies to put on our dining room table from the grocery store yesterday because I was so desperate for a touch of color and spring.
Okay... I have some poetry to read, and some stuff to sort through, and some emails to send. Happy last day of March!
Monday, March 31, 2008
Travelling With the Eyes of God - Henri Nouwen
Another great thought from Henri Nouwen:
Travelling With the Eyes of God
Travelling - seeing new sights, hearing new music, and meeting new people - is exciting and exhilarating. But when we have no home to return to where someone will ask us, "How was your trip?" we might be less eager to go. Travelling is joyful when we travel with the eyes and ears of those who love us, who want to see our slides and hear our stories.
This is what life is about. It is being sent on a trip by a loving God, who is waiting at home for our return and is eager to watch the slides we took and hear about the friends we made. When we travel with the eyes and ears of the God who sent us, we will see wonderful sights, hear wonderful sounds, meet wonderful people ... and be happy to return home.
Travelling With the Eyes of God
Travelling - seeing new sights, hearing new music, and meeting new people - is exciting and exhilarating. But when we have no home to return to where someone will ask us, "How was your trip?" we might be less eager to go. Travelling is joyful when we travel with the eyes and ears of those who love us, who want to see our slides and hear our stories.
This is what life is about. It is being sent on a trip by a loving God, who is waiting at home for our return and is eager to watch the slides we took and hear about the friends we made. When we travel with the eyes and ears of the God who sent us, we will see wonderful sights, hear wonderful sounds, meet wonderful people ... and be happy to return home.
Sunday, March 30, 2008
The ill-matched threads
One more poem from Rilke, the prayer of my heart tonight (for myself, and several dear friends).
She who reconciles the ill-matched threads
of her life, and weaves them gratefully
into a single cloth -
it's she who drives the loudmouths from the hall
and clears it for a different celebration
where the one guest is you.
In the softness of evening
it's you she receives.
You are the partner of her loneliness,
the unspeaking center of her monologues.
With each disclosure you encompass more
and she stretches beyond what limits her,
to hold you.
She who reconciles the ill-matched threads
of her life, and weaves them gratefully
into a single cloth -
it's she who drives the loudmouths from the hall
and clears it for a different celebration
where the one guest is you.
In the softness of evening
it's you she receives.
You are the partner of her loneliness,
the unspeaking center of her monologues.
With each disclosure you encompass more
and she stretches beyond what limits her,
to hold you.
Poetry
A week or so ago I listened to a radio documentary about spirituality and depression. In the course of listening, a book of poetry by Rainer Maria Rilke, translated from the German by Anita Barrows and Joanna Macy, was highly recommended. The book is titled, "Rilke's Book of Hours: Love Poems to God."
I ordered it in from the library, and, now, half-way through the book, am going to end up buying myself a copy. Rilke's poetry is strikingly beautiful, and is catching me in all sorts of tender places at the moment. Want a sample? Here are a few bits and pieces of poems, and one full poem...
But you take pleasure in the faces
of those who know they thirst
You cherish those
who grip you for survival.
~
May what I do flow from me like a river,
no forcing and no holding back,
the way it is with children.
~
I want to unfold.
Let no place in me hold itself closed,
for where I am closed, I am false.
I want to stay clear in your sight.
~
It feels as though I make my way
through massive rock
like a vein of ore
alone, encased.
I am so deep inside it
I can't see the path or any distance:
everything is close
and everything closing in on me
has turned to stone.
Since I still don't know enough about pain,
this terrible darkness makes me small.
If it's you, though -
press down hard on me, break in
that I may know the weight of your hand,
and you, the fullness of my cry.
I ordered it in from the library, and, now, half-way through the book, am going to end up buying myself a copy. Rilke's poetry is strikingly beautiful, and is catching me in all sorts of tender places at the moment. Want a sample? Here are a few bits and pieces of poems, and one full poem...
But you take pleasure in the faces
of those who know they thirst
You cherish those
who grip you for survival.
~
May what I do flow from me like a river,
no forcing and no holding back,
the way it is with children.
~
I want to unfold.
Let no place in me hold itself closed,
for where I am closed, I am false.
I want to stay clear in your sight.
~
It feels as though I make my way
through massive rock
like a vein of ore
alone, encased.
I am so deep inside it
I can't see the path or any distance:
everything is close
and everything closing in on me
has turned to stone.
Since I still don't know enough about pain,
this terrible darkness makes me small.
If it's you, though -
press down hard on me, break in
that I may know the weight of your hand,
and you, the fullness of my cry.
Saturday, March 29, 2008
Dilemmas
I have two dilemmas tonight.
The first involves buying glasses. I went out tonight to look at my options. Do I buy slightly more funky and colorful, or slightly less funky and neutral? Keep in mind that I only buy new glasses about once every five years, and that I wear my glasses all the time (first thing I put on in the morning, last thing I take off at night.)
The second involves Sunday school tomorrow morning. I'm teaching. My class has three sixteen year old girls. The lesson from the book that I'm scheduled to teach is a presentation of the salvation message. The book is designed for large youth groups, with a mixture of Christian and non-Christian kids. I have three girls, all of whom I've known since they were born, all of whom are dedicated followers of Christ. Not really sure what I'm going to do about that.
Thoughts?
The first involves buying glasses. I went out tonight to look at my options. Do I buy slightly more funky and colorful, or slightly less funky and neutral? Keep in mind that I only buy new glasses about once every five years, and that I wear my glasses all the time (first thing I put on in the morning, last thing I take off at night.)
The second involves Sunday school tomorrow morning. I'm teaching. My class has three sixteen year old girls. The lesson from the book that I'm scheduled to teach is a presentation of the salvation message. The book is designed for large youth groups, with a mixture of Christian and non-Christian kids. I have three girls, all of whom I've known since they were born, all of whom are dedicated followers of Christ. Not really sure what I'm going to do about that.
Thoughts?
Friday, March 28, 2008
Burial and Restoration
Because I desperately needed to read this tonight. A week after the ritual took place. I think, next year, I may do this with friends (if I can find a friend willing to indulge this).
Burial and Restoration. So needed.
Burial and Restoration. So needed.
Friday Evening Ramblings
I tried to make an eye appointment with my usual person today. He's booking in October. What kind of person can make a medical appointment for a basic check-up six months in advance? I barely know what I'm doing two months from now, never mind in the third week of October. One quick phone call, and I found someone who can get me in on Tuesday. Time for new glasses - I've been wearing these for almost 5 years, and I'm ready for something new. (Plus, I have benefits that will cover them for now, and since I'm thinking about the possibility of changing jobs, I thought I'd get the glasses while I still have coverage.)
I was just looking at the list of books I've read since 2008 began. If you look too closely, you're going to think that all I read are sappy novels. Not true. I read lots of other stuff too. I read novels when I want to give my brain a break, and I can get through one of the ones on the list in about 3 hours or so. I have a stack of five books that are not sappy novels sitting beside me on the coffee table, all in various stages of partially read glory. Eventually I'll finish one of them and add it to my list.
I had a really fantastic dinner tonight. Stirfried beef and peppers, done in a wrap, with tzatziki sauce. So good. I also made banana bread last night. My first solo attempt. It turned out great.
I have a list of things that need to be accomplished this weekend... in no particular order, they are:
I was just looking at the list of books I've read since 2008 began. If you look too closely, you're going to think that all I read are sappy novels. Not true. I read lots of other stuff too. I read novels when I want to give my brain a break, and I can get through one of the ones on the list in about 3 hours or so. I have a stack of five books that are not sappy novels sitting beside me on the coffee table, all in various stages of partially read glory. Eventually I'll finish one of them and add it to my list.
I had a really fantastic dinner tonight. Stirfried beef and peppers, done in a wrap, with tzatziki sauce. So good. I also made banana bread last night. My first solo attempt. It turned out great.
I have a list of things that need to be accomplished this weekend... in no particular order, they are:
- taxes (a friend is doing this for me)
- budget
- sweep the kitchen/bathroom/hallway
- mop my bedroom floor
- clean my desk
- clean out my shelf in the fridge
- clear off the dining room table from the mess that's accumulated while my roommate's been away for a week
- clean the bathroom
- laundry
- buy groceries
- wash dishes
Thankful for Friends
I was talking with a friend last night about the lessons I learned in the midst of the seven years I suffered from severe depression, and this is one of the ones I shared with her, “find the friends who want to hang out with you even when you're miserable - the ones who will pray for you, and even make you laugh (even when the laughter only hits your head and doesn't penetrate your heart).”
I’ve been thinking about the people whom I’m privileged to call friends lately. I have lots of acquaintances, and very few friends who walk in the deep places of my life. I’ve noticed this more sharply this last season, as I’ve avoided all but a select few people, in an effort to care for myself in the midst of some hard spaces.
I am privileged to call some very cool people friends. The people I love as friends are passionate. They are lovers of Jesus. They walk in deep spaces. They tend to pour out love and caring on others in ways that amaze me (and I’ve benefited from their love and caring more times than I would care to count). They are profoundly messy – I love that. I don’t have much time for the people who want to pretend that they’ve got their lives perfectly together. The mess is so much more interesting, and generally so much more profound. They care for the poor and the broken and the hurting. They care about seeing others walk deeply with the Lord, and in the things the Lord calls them to. They love adventures, and sometimes, go on the adventure in spite of nearly paralyzing fears.
So to each of you whom I’m privileged to call “friend”, thank you for making me smile. Thank you for bringing joy and love and grace to my life. Thank you for teaching me a little bit more about what the heart of God is like.
I’ve been thinking about the people whom I’m privileged to call friends lately. I have lots of acquaintances, and very few friends who walk in the deep places of my life. I’ve noticed this more sharply this last season, as I’ve avoided all but a select few people, in an effort to care for myself in the midst of some hard spaces.
I am privileged to call some very cool people friends. The people I love as friends are passionate. They are lovers of Jesus. They walk in deep spaces. They tend to pour out love and caring on others in ways that amaze me (and I’ve benefited from their love and caring more times than I would care to count). They are profoundly messy – I love that. I don’t have much time for the people who want to pretend that they’ve got their lives perfectly together. The mess is so much more interesting, and generally so much more profound. They care for the poor and the broken and the hurting. They care about seeing others walk deeply with the Lord, and in the things the Lord calls them to. They love adventures, and sometimes, go on the adventure in spite of nearly paralyzing fears.
So to each of you whom I’m privileged to call “friend”, thank you for making me smile. Thank you for bringing joy and love and grace to my life. Thank you for teaching me a little bit more about what the heart of God is like.
Where Mourning and Dancing Touch - Henri Nouwen
I receieved this rather profound thought from Henri Nouwen this morning. It seemed to fit well with the week I've had.
Where Mourning and Dancing Touch Each Other
"[There is] a time for mourning, a time for dancing" (Ecclesiastes 3:4). But mourning and dancing are never fully separated. Their "times" do not necessarily follow each other. In fact, their "times" may become one "time." Mourning may turn into dancing and dancing into mourning without showing a clear point where one ends and the other starts.
Often our grief allows us to choreograph our dance while our dance creates the space for our grief. We lose a beloved friend, and in the midst of our tears we discover an unknown joy. We celebrate a success, and in the midst of the party we feel deep sadness. Mourning and dancing, grief and laughter, sadness and gladness - they belong together as the sad-faced clown and the happy-faced clown, who make us both cry and laugh. Let's trust that the beauty of our lives becomes visible where mourning and dancing touch each other.
Where Mourning and Dancing Touch Each Other
"[There is] a time for mourning, a time for dancing" (Ecclesiastes 3:4). But mourning and dancing are never fully separated. Their "times" do not necessarily follow each other. In fact, their "times" may become one "time." Mourning may turn into dancing and dancing into mourning without showing a clear point where one ends and the other starts.
Often our grief allows us to choreograph our dance while our dance creates the space for our grief. We lose a beloved friend, and in the midst of our tears we discover an unknown joy. We celebrate a success, and in the midst of the party we feel deep sadness. Mourning and dancing, grief and laughter, sadness and gladness - they belong together as the sad-faced clown and the happy-faced clown, who make us both cry and laugh. Let's trust that the beauty of our lives becomes visible where mourning and dancing touch each other.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Just Keep Walking
As I woke this morning, after passing another long night where I never slept for more than an hour and a half in a row, all I could do was lay with my face buried in my pillow and utter a whispered demand, “God, you’d better go with me and give me strength today, or I’m not going to make it.”
Not the most diplomatic, or polite sort of request, but one I’ve found myself uttering quite a lot lately.
This morning, uncharacteristically, as I made my way to work and settled in at my desk, there were lots of little reminders that He is indeed “going with me” through this day.
There were song lyrics on my ipod during the commute.
There was a whispered murmur of a way to pray for a friend.
There were birds. All sorts of birds. Swooping and dashing and landing at just the oddest moments as my heart cried out for hope.
There was an email – a daily scripture passage and prayer from the Moravians – that talked about just the things I’d been talking about with Jesus as the song lyrics and birds stirred my heart.
Little reminders to persevere. Little reminders that in the midst of the struggle and the exhaustion and the pain, He is present and offering me a strength on which to lean. So I'll just keep walking, assured, for the moment at least, of His presence.
Not the most diplomatic, or polite sort of request, but one I’ve found myself uttering quite a lot lately.
This morning, uncharacteristically, as I made my way to work and settled in at my desk, there were lots of little reminders that He is indeed “going with me” through this day.
There were song lyrics on my ipod during the commute.
There was a whispered murmur of a way to pray for a friend.
There were birds. All sorts of birds. Swooping and dashing and landing at just the oddest moments as my heart cried out for hope.
There was an email – a daily scripture passage and prayer from the Moravians – that talked about just the things I’d been talking about with Jesus as the song lyrics and birds stirred my heart.
Little reminders to persevere. Little reminders that in the midst of the struggle and the exhaustion and the pain, He is present and offering me a strength on which to lean. So I'll just keep walking, assured, for the moment at least, of His presence.
More from Henri Nouwen
Living Faithfully in an Ambiguous World
Our hearts and minds desire clarity. We like to have a clear picture of a situation, a clear view of how things fit together, and clear insight into our own and the world's problems. But just as in nature colors and shapes mingle without clear-cut distinctions, human life doesn't offer the clarity we are looking for. The borders between love and hate, evil and good, beauty and ugliness, heroism and cowardice, care and neglect, guilt and blamelessness are mostly vague, ambiguous, and hard to discern.
It is not easy to live faithfully in a world full of ambiguities. We have to learn to make wise choices without needing to be entirely sure.
Our hearts and minds desire clarity. We like to have a clear picture of a situation, a clear view of how things fit together, and clear insight into our own and the world's problems. But just as in nature colors and shapes mingle without clear-cut distinctions, human life doesn't offer the clarity we are looking for. The borders between love and hate, evil and good, beauty and ugliness, heroism and cowardice, care and neglect, guilt and blamelessness are mostly vague, ambiguous, and hard to discern.
It is not easy to live faithfully in a world full of ambiguities. We have to learn to make wise choices without needing to be entirely sure.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Not the right words...
I have a million and one words, but can't seem to find the ones I want for the important things. There are people I'd like to write to, but there aren't words for that either. Things I want to say. Things that hurt. Things that would probably make others hurt too. I don't want anyone else to hurt - not on my behalf, not on their own. So I don't have the right words.
An anonymous commenter left a note on a blog post a friend of mine recently wrote, "I feel as though I'm going through a 'dark night of the soul'." I'm not going through that, though I have in the past and am sure I will again. But this anonymous soul's words grabbed at me - the loneliness, the fear, the despair. I know those things well. I feel a few of them, in a different sort of way right now.
I'm asking a lot of questions about God and life and faith and community and church and relationships and mission. I'm taking a lot of comfort in talking to a few friends who are asking similar questions. I'm taking a lot of comfort in reading authors who have asked similar questions. I'm mostly interested in the ones who propose answers that involve brokenness instead of wholeness. Because I don't have a whole lot of wholeness to offer these days.
I was looking at a couple of old blog posts today... Came across two more quotes that struck me...
This one from Shane Claiborne:
"The gospel is good news for sick people and is disturbing for those who think they've got it all together. Some of us have been told our whole lives that we are wretched, but the gospel reminds us that we are beautiful. Others of us have been told our whole lives that we are beautiful, but the gospel reminds us that we are also wretched. The church is a place where we can stand up and say we are wretched, and everyone will nod and agree and remind us that we are also beautiful.
...Community can be built around a common self-righteousness or around a common brokenness. Both are magnetic. People are drawn toward folks who have it all together, or who look like they do. People are also drawn toward folks who know they don't have it all together and are not willing to fake it.
Christianity can be build around isolating ourselves from evildoers and sinners, creating a community of religious piety and moral purity. That's the Christianity I grew up with. Christianity can also be built around joining with the broken sinners and evildoers of our world crying out to God, groaning for grace. That's the Christianity I have fallen in love with."
And this poem by Leonard Cohen, because today, as I've been searching for words, I've felt like one of the fakes. I am one of the fakes, and this is my story.
Thousands
Out of the thousands
who are known
or who want to be known
as poets,
maybe one or two
are genuine
and the rest are fakes,
hanging around the sacred precincts
trying to look like the real thing.
Needless to say
I am one of the fakes,
and this is my story.
An anonymous commenter left a note on a blog post a friend of mine recently wrote, "I feel as though I'm going through a 'dark night of the soul'." I'm not going through that, though I have in the past and am sure I will again. But this anonymous soul's words grabbed at me - the loneliness, the fear, the despair. I know those things well. I feel a few of them, in a different sort of way right now.
I'm asking a lot of questions about God and life and faith and community and church and relationships and mission. I'm taking a lot of comfort in talking to a few friends who are asking similar questions. I'm taking a lot of comfort in reading authors who have asked similar questions. I'm mostly interested in the ones who propose answers that involve brokenness instead of wholeness. Because I don't have a whole lot of wholeness to offer these days.
I was looking at a couple of old blog posts today... Came across two more quotes that struck me...
This one from Shane Claiborne:
"The gospel is good news for sick people and is disturbing for those who think they've got it all together. Some of us have been told our whole lives that we are wretched, but the gospel reminds us that we are beautiful. Others of us have been told our whole lives that we are beautiful, but the gospel reminds us that we are also wretched. The church is a place where we can stand up and say we are wretched, and everyone will nod and agree and remind us that we are also beautiful.
...Community can be built around a common self-righteousness or around a common brokenness. Both are magnetic. People are drawn toward folks who have it all together, or who look like they do. People are also drawn toward folks who know they don't have it all together and are not willing to fake it.
Christianity can be build around isolating ourselves from evildoers and sinners, creating a community of religious piety and moral purity. That's the Christianity I grew up with. Christianity can also be built around joining with the broken sinners and evildoers of our world crying out to God, groaning for grace. That's the Christianity I have fallen in love with."
And this poem by Leonard Cohen, because today, as I've been searching for words, I've felt like one of the fakes. I am one of the fakes, and this is my story.
Thousands
Out of the thousands
who are known
or who want to be known
as poets,
maybe one or two
are genuine
and the rest are fakes,
hanging around the sacred precincts
trying to look like the real thing.
Needless to say
I am one of the fakes,
and this is my story.
My Brothers and I
This is my siblings and I, on Easter Sunday, after church. Because J (pictured on the left) was uncharacteristically "dressed up", our mom insisted on a photo of the three of us. You can clearly see that I am, while the oldest, the one sibling who was not blessed with any height genes. And, if you look closely, you can see how spacy T. is from the painkillers from his arm surgery. (And, just as an aside, if this picture included my shoes, you'd see that they're cute and pointy toed and bright red to match my top - inspiring my dad to sing "follow the yellow brick road, follow the yellow brick road" every time I wear them.)5 thoughts from Henri Nouwen
I still don't have much of my own that can be said here. Give me a few more days. In the meantime, I returned to the office this morning to find a glut of wisdom from Henri Nouwen awaiting me in my email inbox, and I thought I'd share some of those thoughts with you, as many of them speak to things I've been thinking about in this season.
A Still Place in the Market
"Be still and acknowledge that I am God" (Psalm 46:10). These are words to take with us in our busy lives. We may think about stillness in contrast to our noisy world. But perhaps we can go further and keep an inner stillness even while we carry on business, teach, work in construction, make music, or organise meetings.
It is important to keep a still place in the "marketplace." This still place is where God can dwell and speak to us. It also is the place from where we can speak in a healing way to all the people we meet in our busy days. Without that still space we start spinning. We become driven people, running all over the place without much direction. But with that stillness God can be our gentle guide in everything we think, say, or do.
Claiming the Sacredness of Our Being
Are we friends with ourselves? Do we love who we are? These are important questions because we cannot develop good friendships with others unless we have befriended ourselves.
How then do we befriend ourselves? We have to start by acknowledging the truth of ourselves. We are beautiful but also limited, rich but also poor, generous but also worried about our security. Yet beyond all that we are people with souls, sparks of the divine. To acknowledge the truth of ourselves is to claim the sacredness of our being, without fully understanding it. Our deepest being escapes our own mental or emotional grasp. But when we trust that our souls are embraced by a loving God, we can befriend ourselves and reach out to others in loving relationships.
The Ways to Self-knowledge
"Know yourself" is good advice. But to know ourselves doesn't mean to analyse ourselves. Sometimes we want to know ourselves as if we were machines that could be taken apart and put back together at will. At certain critical times in our lives it might be helpful to explore in some detail the events that led us to our crises, but we make a mistake when we think that we can ever completely understand ourselves and explain the full meaning of our lives to others.
Solitude, silence, and prayer are often the best ways to self-knowledge. Not because they offer solutions for the complexity of our lives but because they bring us in touch with our sacred center, where God dwells. That sacred center may not be analysed. It is the place of adoration, thanksgiving, and praise.
Sharing Our Solitude
A friend is more than a therapist or a confessor, even though a friend can sometimes heal us and offer us God's forgiveness.
A friend is that other person with whom we can share our solitude, our silence, and our prayer. A friend is that other person with whom we can look at a tree and say, "Isn't that beautiful," or sit on the beach and silently watch the sun disappear under the horizon. With a friend we don't have to say or do something special. With a friend we can be still and know that God is there with both of us.
Friendship in the Twilight Zones of Our Heart
There is a twilight zone in our own hearts that we ourselves cannot see. Even when we know quite a lot about ourselves - our gifts and weaknesses, our ambitions and aspirations, our motives and drives - large parts of ourselves remain in the shadow of consciousness.
This is a very good thing. We always will remain partially hidden to ourselves. Other people, especially those who love us, can often see our twilight zones better than we ourselves can. The way we are seen and understood by others is different from the way we see and understand ourselves. We will never fully know the significance of our presence in the lives of our friends. That's a grace, a grace that calls us not only to humility but also to a deep trust in those who love us. It is in the twilight zones of our hearts where true friendships are born.
The Healing Touch
Touch, yes, touch, speaks the wordless words of love. We receive so much touch when we are babies and so little when we are adults. Still, in friendship touch often gives more life than words. A friend's hand stroking our back, a friend's arms resting on our shoulder, a friend's fingers wiping our tears away, a friend's lips kissing our forehead --- these are true consolation. These moments of touch are truly sacred. They restore, they reconcile, they reassure, they forgive, they heal.
Everyone who touched Jesus and everyone whom Jesus touched were healed. God's love and power went out from him (see Luke 6:19). When a friend touches us with free, nonpossessive love, it is God's incarnate love that touches us and God's power that heals us.
A Still Place in the Market
"Be still and acknowledge that I am God" (Psalm 46:10). These are words to take with us in our busy lives. We may think about stillness in contrast to our noisy world. But perhaps we can go further and keep an inner stillness even while we carry on business, teach, work in construction, make music, or organise meetings.
It is important to keep a still place in the "marketplace." This still place is where God can dwell and speak to us. It also is the place from where we can speak in a healing way to all the people we meet in our busy days. Without that still space we start spinning. We become driven people, running all over the place without much direction. But with that stillness God can be our gentle guide in everything we think, say, or do.
Claiming the Sacredness of Our Being
Are we friends with ourselves? Do we love who we are? These are important questions because we cannot develop good friendships with others unless we have befriended ourselves.
How then do we befriend ourselves? We have to start by acknowledging the truth of ourselves. We are beautiful but also limited, rich but also poor, generous but also worried about our security. Yet beyond all that we are people with souls, sparks of the divine. To acknowledge the truth of ourselves is to claim the sacredness of our being, without fully understanding it. Our deepest being escapes our own mental or emotional grasp. But when we trust that our souls are embraced by a loving God, we can befriend ourselves and reach out to others in loving relationships.
The Ways to Self-knowledge
"Know yourself" is good advice. But to know ourselves doesn't mean to analyse ourselves. Sometimes we want to know ourselves as if we were machines that could be taken apart and put back together at will. At certain critical times in our lives it might be helpful to explore in some detail the events that led us to our crises, but we make a mistake when we think that we can ever completely understand ourselves and explain the full meaning of our lives to others.
Solitude, silence, and prayer are often the best ways to self-knowledge. Not because they offer solutions for the complexity of our lives but because they bring us in touch with our sacred center, where God dwells. That sacred center may not be analysed. It is the place of adoration, thanksgiving, and praise.
Sharing Our Solitude
A friend is more than a therapist or a confessor, even though a friend can sometimes heal us and offer us God's forgiveness.
A friend is that other person with whom we can share our solitude, our silence, and our prayer. A friend is that other person with whom we can look at a tree and say, "Isn't that beautiful," or sit on the beach and silently watch the sun disappear under the horizon. With a friend we don't have to say or do something special. With a friend we can be still and know that God is there with both of us.
Friendship in the Twilight Zones of Our Heart
There is a twilight zone in our own hearts that we ourselves cannot see. Even when we know quite a lot about ourselves - our gifts and weaknesses, our ambitions and aspirations, our motives and drives - large parts of ourselves remain in the shadow of consciousness.
This is a very good thing. We always will remain partially hidden to ourselves. Other people, especially those who love us, can often see our twilight zones better than we ourselves can. The way we are seen and understood by others is different from the way we see and understand ourselves. We will never fully know the significance of our presence in the lives of our friends. That's a grace, a grace that calls us not only to humility but also to a deep trust in those who love us. It is in the twilight zones of our hearts where true friendships are born.
The Healing Touch
Touch, yes, touch, speaks the wordless words of love. We receive so much touch when we are babies and so little when we are adults. Still, in friendship touch often gives more life than words. A friend's hand stroking our back, a friend's arms resting on our shoulder, a friend's fingers wiping our tears away, a friend's lips kissing our forehead --- these are true consolation. These moments of touch are truly sacred. They restore, they reconcile, they reassure, they forgive, they heal.
Everyone who touched Jesus and everyone whom Jesus touched were healed. God's love and power went out from him (see Luke 6:19). When a friend touches us with free, nonpossessive love, it is God's incarnate love that touches us and God's power that heals us.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Welcome each visitor...
Two quotes and a link. My own thoughts are just not fitting for public consumption. I've laid on the couch for nearly a full day. I'm feeling slightly more rested, and but still deeply sad and exhausted. Tomorrow morning I'll go back to work and start again. This is a season of breaking, of shattering, of wondering if wholeness will ever happen again, and do I really want it anyway? Of evaluating the high costs of various decisions. Of questions and elusive future possibilities. Of silence and oftentimes loneliness (even in the midst of crowds). Of fasting. Of thinking and praying and wondering and waiting. Of agonizing and weeping. Of opening my life to the thousand and one sorrows that surround me, and letting them change things in my heart. Of crying out to God in the desperate hope that he will hear and respond and send peace.
I'm going with my best friend to a panel discussion on genocide - in Rwanda and Darfur - in a few hours. We'll eat together first, and then listen, and once again I'm sure my heart will shatter.
So, two quotes and a link. That's all I can manage for public consumption.
Sara Miles describes a conversation soon after she'd become a Christian, with an old friend, where, as he shared the pain in his life, she recommended he pray. She writes:
"When you told me to pray," Jose would remember later, "it was incredibly earnest. You said prayer was like having this intense, profound longing that you just had to be with. That you put the longing in the hands of God, in a certain way. That it was important to be receptive to the unfulfilled, and not fill it or deny it."
I had to be receptive or go crazy - because even as I kept going to church, the questions raised by the experience only multiplied. Conversion was turning out to be quite far from the greeting-card moment promised by televangelists, when Jesus steps into your life, personally saves you, and becomes your lucky charm forever. Instead, it was socially and politically awkward, as well as profoundly confusing. I wasn't struck with any sudden conviction that I now understood the "truth." If anything, I was just crabbier, lonelier, and more destabilized.
(Sara Miles, "Take This Bread", pg. 70)
The poet Rumi writes:
This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival
A joy, a depression, a meannness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out for
some new delight.
I first came across that poem a few years back, as the inspiration for this story, "The Crowded House".
To be receptive to the unfulfilled spaces and not fill or deny them, and to welcome each visitor, even if they're a crowd of sorrows. This is the space I am working to occupy.
I'm going with my best friend to a panel discussion on genocide - in Rwanda and Darfur - in a few hours. We'll eat together first, and then listen, and once again I'm sure my heart will shatter.
So, two quotes and a link. That's all I can manage for public consumption.
Sara Miles describes a conversation soon after she'd become a Christian, with an old friend, where, as he shared the pain in his life, she recommended he pray. She writes:
"When you told me to pray," Jose would remember later, "it was incredibly earnest. You said prayer was like having this intense, profound longing that you just had to be with. That you put the longing in the hands of God, in a certain way. That it was important to be receptive to the unfulfilled, and not fill it or deny it."
I had to be receptive or go crazy - because even as I kept going to church, the questions raised by the experience only multiplied. Conversion was turning out to be quite far from the greeting-card moment promised by televangelists, when Jesus steps into your life, personally saves you, and becomes your lucky charm forever. Instead, it was socially and politically awkward, as well as profoundly confusing. I wasn't struck with any sudden conviction that I now understood the "truth." If anything, I was just crabbier, lonelier, and more destabilized.
(Sara Miles, "Take This Bread", pg. 70)
The poet Rumi writes:
This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival
A joy, a depression, a meannness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out for
some new delight.
I first came across that poem a few years back, as the inspiration for this story, "The Crowded House".
To be receptive to the unfulfilled spaces and not fill or deny them, and to welcome each visitor, even if they're a crowd of sorrows. This is the space I am working to occupy.
Home Sick and Mice
I'm home from work today.
Praying that it's just exhaustion (from months of sleeping only 4 or 5 hours a night) and not a flu bug. Queasy, exhaustion, aching body, possibly fever.
I got up just long enough to send my office an email telling them I wasn't going to be able to come in today, then went back to bed and slept another three hours. Planning to take a nice long nap this afternoon as well.
Oh yes, and a mouse update.
After some maneuvering, Mom and I figured out how to arm the mousetraps yesterday afternoon. (Mom nearly broke her finger in the process - her fingers being notoriously fragile).
I put several traps around the house and set out to wait.
Nothing.
Figures.
Maybe the mouse I saw was a figment of an overstressed imagination? I was involved in an intense conversation at the time.
If I don't catch anything for a couple more days, I'll patch a few holes in my closet wall (discovered upon emptying the closet) and put my belongings back in place, instead of them being strewn across my bedroom floor.
Praying that it's just exhaustion (from months of sleeping only 4 or 5 hours a night) and not a flu bug. Queasy, exhaustion, aching body, possibly fever.
I got up just long enough to send my office an email telling them I wasn't going to be able to come in today, then went back to bed and slept another three hours. Planning to take a nice long nap this afternoon as well.
Oh yes, and a mouse update.
After some maneuvering, Mom and I figured out how to arm the mousetraps yesterday afternoon. (Mom nearly broke her finger in the process - her fingers being notoriously fragile).
I put several traps around the house and set out to wait.
Nothing.
Figures.
Maybe the mouse I saw was a figment of an overstressed imagination? I was involved in an intense conversation at the time.
If I don't catch anything for a couple more days, I'll patch a few holes in my closet wall (discovered upon emptying the closet) and put my belongings back in place, instead of them being strewn across my bedroom floor.
Monday, March 24, 2008
Challenging day...
I'm having a rather challenging day.
Not much sleep.
I spent the first couple hours I was awake laying on my couch, and praying. I also spent the first couple hours I was awake working not to toss my cookies.
Mice.
(does anyone know how to arm a mousetrap? the diagrams are less than helpful.)
lack of sleep and mice means that I bought groceries I don't actually need. Like balsamic vinegar. who knew that I bought a bottle of that the last time shopped? (good thing it keeps).
My emotions are all over the place.
I'm trying favorite methods of self-medicating. Except my all-time favorite method (sugar - particularly in chocolate or cake form) isn't available.
So, I went to a bookstore. This time I made it out easy. Only $30, and two titles. One on pilgrimage. One on miracles. Because I could use a few miracles, and know some people who could use some too. And because I know someone who is currently walking the pilgrimage in Spain the other book is about (and it has a foreword and endorsement from Eugene Peterson), and I'm fascinated by pilgrimage.
I'm eating one of my grandma's homemade hot-crossed buns (minus the icing cross). They taste best toasted, with butter (or occasionally cheese) melted on them.
Eventually I'll curl up and write really honestly in a journal.
But for now, a bottle of water, and episode of M*A*S*H* (another favorite form of emotional release for me). Maybe a book, or a bit of a computer game.
Errands with my mom this afternoon.
Rascal Flatts concert with my brothers tonight. I need to laugh. Rascal Flatts put on a great show - and I laughed until my stomach hurt last time. I'm glad for the chance to hang with my brothers.
Not much sleep.
I spent the first couple hours I was awake laying on my couch, and praying. I also spent the first couple hours I was awake working not to toss my cookies.
Mice.
(does anyone know how to arm a mousetrap? the diagrams are less than helpful.)
lack of sleep and mice means that I bought groceries I don't actually need. Like balsamic vinegar. who knew that I bought a bottle of that the last time shopped? (good thing it keeps).
My emotions are all over the place.
I'm trying favorite methods of self-medicating. Except my all-time favorite method (sugar - particularly in chocolate or cake form) isn't available.
So, I went to a bookstore. This time I made it out easy. Only $30, and two titles. One on pilgrimage. One on miracles. Because I could use a few miracles, and know some people who could use some too. And because I know someone who is currently walking the pilgrimage in Spain the other book is about (and it has a foreword and endorsement from Eugene Peterson), and I'm fascinated by pilgrimage.
I'm eating one of my grandma's homemade hot-crossed buns (minus the icing cross). They taste best toasted, with butter (or occasionally cheese) melted on them.
Eventually I'll curl up and write really honestly in a journal.
But for now, a bottle of water, and episode of M*A*S*H* (another favorite form of emotional release for me). Maybe a book, or a bit of a computer game.
Errands with my mom this afternoon.
Rascal Flatts concert with my brothers tonight. I need to laugh. Rascal Flatts put on a great show - and I laughed until my stomach hurt last time. I'm glad for the chance to hang with my brothers.
Twisted Sense of Humor
Okay, here's the deal... if you get offended easily by sexual humor, or crude language, you shouldn't go to this e-card site. But I'm in a twisted sort of mood today, and needing to laugh at something ridiculous and cynical, because if I don't laugh, I'll cry. So, if you have a slightly twisted sense of humor, then you might enjoy being able to send e-cards with captions such as these:
For Friendship:
For Friendship:
- You'd merit very kind words in my suicide note.
- Let's agree to disagree and quietly resent each other.
- Please be my excuse for not showing up to something.
- I love it when you tell a story 368 times
- We hate all the same people
- I couldn't get through Mondays without knowing you're equally miserable
- I hope your 40 days of shame, penitence and self-denial are going well
- Lent is when I determine which addictions I still have some control over
- Adorable candy will help distract us from the astounding horror of a man being nailed to a cross
- If you really loved me, you would say it on my facebook wall
- I love you like a cannibal loves human flesh
- I'm glad you recognize how terrible your life would be without me
- We've decided to change the name of this department in order to fix all its problems
- I'm intrigued by your cubicle knick-knacks
- Our health plan covers half the therapy sessions I need, so plan on me being half-insane
- I love pretending I have the courage to quit my job
- It's my meeting and I'll cry if I want to
Awake? and mice?
I'm awake.
After approximately 3 hours of sleep.
Does that even count as enough to be called a "night's sleep"?
Does that even count as awake?
I'm sitting and praying, and hoping to fall back to sleep on my couch.
Also. I have mice. Or at least a mouse. In my house. (bad rhyme - did I mention I only got three hours of sleep?)
I was sitting in my chair in the corner of my bedroom last night, when I noticed movement in my closet. The third time I saw it, there was a mouse attached.
I'm really excited to find myself living somewhere with rodents.
25 years in Calgary, and we've only ever had one mouse (and that was in the garage). Now, I have one in my closet. Fantastic.
As soon as it's not 7:30 am any more, I'll be phoning my dad and asking for mouse traps.
I'm not really any better with dead rodents than live ones.
My roommate - who grew up in Africa and is a bit more used to creepy-crawly things is leaving any minute for a week long road trip.
Which means I get to deal with the mice issue all by myself.
After approximately 3 hours of sleep.
Does that even count as enough to be called a "night's sleep"?
Does that even count as awake?
I'm sitting and praying, and hoping to fall back to sleep on my couch.
Also. I have mice. Or at least a mouse. In my house. (bad rhyme - did I mention I only got three hours of sleep?)
I was sitting in my chair in the corner of my bedroom last night, when I noticed movement in my closet. The third time I saw it, there was a mouse attached.
I'm really excited to find myself living somewhere with rodents.
25 years in Calgary, and we've only ever had one mouse (and that was in the garage). Now, I have one in my closet. Fantastic.
As soon as it's not 7:30 am any more, I'll be phoning my dad and asking for mouse traps.
I'm not really any better with dead rodents than live ones.
My roommate - who grew up in Africa and is a bit more used to creepy-crawly things is leaving any minute for a week long road trip.
Which means I get to deal with the mice issue all by myself.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Reading at just the right moments...
This is my 1000th blog post, and it seems fitting to devote it to books that have changed my life or my way of thinking.
Have you ever read a book that came at just the right time in your journey - speaking into the places you are occupying in ways that astonish you with their piercing depths and insights?
It has happened to me a number of times over the years.
The moment I was searching desperately to understand if there really was a Holy Spirit, and what difference that made anyway, and my then pastor sent me to the bookstore on a mission to buy a book titled, "Surprised by the Power of the Holy Spirit". I devoured that book in three days, making notes in bold red pen in the margins. Talking back to the chapters in comments at the end. Underlining, circling, and looking up every scriptural reference that Jack Deere, the author made.
The moment when I opened the pages of Renee Altson's "Stumbling Towards Faith" and couldn't close it until I'd finished. When, in the midst of a severe depression, where I went to bed each night and prayed that the Lord would let me die in my sleep that night, I discovered that I was not in fact nearly as alone as I felt. I discovered that there were others out there who were asking the same deeply intense questions as I was.
It happened again while I was traveling at the beginning of this year.
Before I'd left, on the basis of a recommendation of a blog I read (ysmarko), I'd ordered a book online to take along on my trip.
"Take This Bread: A Radical Conversion" by Sara Miles rocked my world. It spoke to the deep themes I was thinking about and beginning to work through as I traveled. In that way that can only be ordained by God, in just the moment I would be working through a topic or idea, the next words that Miles wrote would speak directly to those thoughts.
I'm presently on my second trip through "Take This Bread" and I'm finding the same thing happening again. The Lord is using a book that few in the circles I grew up in would even consider reading. A book written by a radical left-wing lesbian journalist, who walked into a church one day, took communion, and met Jesus, and now spends her days feeding the poor through a food pantry around the altar of the church where she first took communion.
Tonight, I located online several articles by Miles, all of which are written in the strikingly poignant style of her book, and all of which are speaking to things I'm thinking about these days as well. I'll link to each article and tell you what part of my thoughts they're speaking to.
By Water and By Fire (thoughts on baptism)
Ashes and Dust (thoughts from Ash Wednesday 2007)
Like Lambs Among Wolves (thoughts on violence)
Anatomy of Reconciliation (thoughts on a broken world)
Miles' book begins with the following two paragraphs, and I can't recommend strongly enough that you pick up a copy and make your way through her thoughts on bread and food and war and prayer.
One early, cloudy morning when I was forty-six, I walked into a church, at a piece of bread, took a sip of wine. A routine Sunday activity for tens of millions of Americans - except that up until that moment I'd lead a thoroughly secular life, at best indifferent to religion, more often appalled by its fundamentalist crusades. This was my first communion. It changed everything.
Eating Jesus, as I did that day to my great astonishment, led me against all my expectations to a faith I'd scorned and work I'd never imagined. The mysterious sacrament turned out to be not a symbolic wafer at all but actual food - indeed, the bread of life. In that shocking moment of communion, filled with a deep desire to reach for and become part of a body, I realized that what I'd been doing with my life all along was what I was meant to do: feed people.
And so I did. I took communion, I passed the bread to others, and then I kept going, compelled to find new ways to share what I'd experienced.
Have you ever read a book that came at just the right time in your journey - speaking into the places you are occupying in ways that astonish you with their piercing depths and insights?
It has happened to me a number of times over the years.
The moment I was searching desperately to understand if there really was a Holy Spirit, and what difference that made anyway, and my then pastor sent me to the bookstore on a mission to buy a book titled, "Surprised by the Power of the Holy Spirit". I devoured that book in three days, making notes in bold red pen in the margins. Talking back to the chapters in comments at the end. Underlining, circling, and looking up every scriptural reference that Jack Deere, the author made.
The moment when I opened the pages of Renee Altson's "Stumbling Towards Faith" and couldn't close it until I'd finished. When, in the midst of a severe depression, where I went to bed each night and prayed that the Lord would let me die in my sleep that night, I discovered that I was not in fact nearly as alone as I felt. I discovered that there were others out there who were asking the same deeply intense questions as I was.
It happened again while I was traveling at the beginning of this year.
Before I'd left, on the basis of a recommendation of a blog I read (ysmarko), I'd ordered a book online to take along on my trip.
"Take This Bread: A Radical Conversion" by Sara Miles rocked my world. It spoke to the deep themes I was thinking about and beginning to work through as I traveled. In that way that can only be ordained by God, in just the moment I would be working through a topic or idea, the next words that Miles wrote would speak directly to those thoughts.
I'm presently on my second trip through "Take This Bread" and I'm finding the same thing happening again. The Lord is using a book that few in the circles I grew up in would even consider reading. A book written by a radical left-wing lesbian journalist, who walked into a church one day, took communion, and met Jesus, and now spends her days feeding the poor through a food pantry around the altar of the church where she first took communion.
Tonight, I located online several articles by Miles, all of which are written in the strikingly poignant style of her book, and all of which are speaking to things I'm thinking about these days as well. I'll link to each article and tell you what part of my thoughts they're speaking to.
By Water and By Fire (thoughts on baptism)
Ashes and Dust (thoughts from Ash Wednesday 2007)
Like Lambs Among Wolves (thoughts on violence)
Anatomy of Reconciliation (thoughts on a broken world)
Miles' book begins with the following two paragraphs, and I can't recommend strongly enough that you pick up a copy and make your way through her thoughts on bread and food and war and prayer.
One early, cloudy morning when I was forty-six, I walked into a church, at a piece of bread, took a sip of wine. A routine Sunday activity for tens of millions of Americans - except that up until that moment I'd lead a thoroughly secular life, at best indifferent to religion, more often appalled by its fundamentalist crusades. This was my first communion. It changed everything.
Eating Jesus, as I did that day to my great astonishment, led me against all my expectations to a faith I'd scorned and work I'd never imagined. The mysterious sacrament turned out to be not a symbolic wafer at all but actual food - indeed, the bread of life. In that shocking moment of communion, filled with a deep desire to reach for and become part of a body, I realized that what I'd been doing with my life all along was what I was meant to do: feed people.
And so I did. I took communion, I passed the bread to others, and then I kept going, compelled to find new ways to share what I'd experienced.
Headlines - Easter Edition
He is Risen!
There is something beautiful and hopeful about Easter. Something which defies the odds - even in the midst of the deepest pain, there is suddenly, for a moment, hope. Even in the moments when it seems to make no sense that there is relief, and a chance to celebrate, it is there. There is joy.
I needed that hope and that joy today.
He is risen.
He is risen indeed.
Hallelujah.
----------------
Now playing: Keith Green - Easter Song
via FoxyTunes
I needed that hope and that joy today.
He is risen.
He is risen indeed.
Hallelujah.
----------------
Now playing: Keith Green - Easter Song
via FoxyTunes
Saturday, March 22, 2008
A Few Headlines I'm Contemplating
DR Congo's Dangerous Superstition
Because there's nothing like accusing a child of witchcraft to eliminate an extra mouth to feed.
Police Bust Chinese Slave Ring
For fairly self-explanatory reasons.
Because there's nothing like accusing a child of witchcraft to eliminate an extra mouth to feed.
Police Bust Chinese Slave Ring
For fairly self-explanatory reasons.
Ready for Easter
I am laying on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, and eating a muffin.
It was an odd sort of day. An in-between, waiting, Holy Saturday sort of day.
My phone rang more times this morning than it has in the last two weeks combined.
I've prayed while baking. Prayed while doing laundry, while cooking, while washing dishes, while driving and while being with people.
Tonight I'm going to lay on the couch, and read, and maybe write.
I had some interesting encounters with people.
An old friend stopped by this morning to share a muffin and a cup of tea, and to ask me to pray.
My mom called to tell me she'd been sick for two days, and, since I was coming over anyway, would I mind mixing up the "schwartzie's potatoes" she was supposed to make for easter brunch tomorrow?
My brother and I drove to the video rental place, looked around, couldn't decide what to watch, he started to feel woozy (post-surgical weakness and drugs), so we drove home and watched the movie our dad had already rented to watch with mom.
I came home made my own dinner, and have been relaxing on the couch.
I'm glad tomorrow is Easter.
Glad that Lent will draw to a close.
I'm committed to seeing a number of things through. To walking out a variety of things alone and with friends. To living out this season I find myself in as deeply and fully as possible. To pushing through.
But I'm ready for Easter.
Ready to see and celebrate resurrection, redemption. Just for a day or so. I need to see and be reminded of joy and new life.
I'm ready for Easter.
It was an odd sort of day. An in-between, waiting, Holy Saturday sort of day.
My phone rang more times this morning than it has in the last two weeks combined.
I've prayed while baking. Prayed while doing laundry, while cooking, while washing dishes, while driving and while being with people.
Tonight I'm going to lay on the couch, and read, and maybe write.
I had some interesting encounters with people.
An old friend stopped by this morning to share a muffin and a cup of tea, and to ask me to pray.
My mom called to tell me she'd been sick for two days, and, since I was coming over anyway, would I mind mixing up the "schwartzie's potatoes" she was supposed to make for easter brunch tomorrow?
My brother and I drove to the video rental place, looked around, couldn't decide what to watch, he started to feel woozy (post-surgical weakness and drugs), so we drove home and watched the movie our dad had already rented to watch with mom.
I came home made my own dinner, and have been relaxing on the couch.
I'm glad tomorrow is Easter.
Glad that Lent will draw to a close.
I'm committed to seeing a number of things through. To walking out a variety of things alone and with friends. To living out this season I find myself in as deeply and fully as possible. To pushing through.
But I'm ready for Easter.
Ready to see and celebrate resurrection, redemption. Just for a day or so. I need to see and be reminded of joy and new life.
I'm ready for Easter.
Muffins and embodied prayer
Do you ever have moments when you just have to do something? When you can no longer sit and meditate and think? When you need to physically work out the things you are thinking about?
I have those moments quite regularly.
I woke up far too early again this morning. The curse of one who is grateful when a night of sleep extends to 5 or 6 hours. While I love days off, it can make for a very long day when you rise before 8:00 and don't return to bed until midnight or later.
Days of mostly solitary thinking and reading and processing and praying - of pushing in - have left me antsy and lonely. That feeling of waiting for the other shoe to fall, for the breakthrough to come. I was feeling that this morning.
I tried various methods of distracting myself. Watching a bit of television, or an episode of Scrubs available on the internet. Conversation with my roommate and our houseguest as they prepared to head out the door for a half-day of skiing at Lake Louise.
Finally I got up off the couch.
Clothes. Put some on. There's something about wearing things that are not what you wear to bed that lets me focus more clearly.
I began to download a documentary on spirituality and depression. You can listen to it here.
This morning, I am letting my thoughts, my creativity, my need for structure, my prayers play out in baking. I am making muffins. Something that's been on my schedule for over a week. Since before I began a fast that wouldn't permit me to eat them. I'd purchased the ingredients just before God began to call me to fast, and they sat in my fridge while I engaged in that.
Today, I am making muffins. Simple white muffins, using a recipe of my mom's from my growing up years, with just a dab of raspberry jam in the middle.
I'll take some to my brother when I go to see him later today, to watch a movie with him as he recovers from his surgery on Thursday.
Some will go to church tomorrow, for the light buffet brunch that will follow the Easter service.
Some will go with my roommate and our guest, as they make a road trip next week, visting the West Coast and enjoying the waves and water.
Some will stay with me, and I'll enjoy them, and remember how baking them let me embody my thought and prayer life in a way that soothed my soul.
I have those moments quite regularly.
I woke up far too early again this morning. The curse of one who is grateful when a night of sleep extends to 5 or 6 hours. While I love days off, it can make for a very long day when you rise before 8:00 and don't return to bed until midnight or later.
Days of mostly solitary thinking and reading and processing and praying - of pushing in - have left me antsy and lonely. That feeling of waiting for the other shoe to fall, for the breakthrough to come. I was feeling that this morning.
I tried various methods of distracting myself. Watching a bit of television, or an episode of Scrubs available on the internet. Conversation with my roommate and our houseguest as they prepared to head out the door for a half-day of skiing at Lake Louise.
Finally I got up off the couch.
Clothes. Put some on. There's something about wearing things that are not what you wear to bed that lets me focus more clearly.
I began to download a documentary on spirituality and depression. You can listen to it here.
This morning, I am letting my thoughts, my creativity, my need for structure, my prayers play out in baking. I am making muffins. Something that's been on my schedule for over a week. Since before I began a fast that wouldn't permit me to eat them. I'd purchased the ingredients just before God began to call me to fast, and they sat in my fridge while I engaged in that.
Today, I am making muffins. Simple white muffins, using a recipe of my mom's from my growing up years, with just a dab of raspberry jam in the middle.
I'll take some to my brother when I go to see him later today, to watch a movie with him as he recovers from his surgery on Thursday.
Some will go to church tomorrow, for the light buffet brunch that will follow the Easter service.
Some will go with my roommate and our guest, as they make a road trip next week, visting the West Coast and enjoying the waves and water.
Some will stay with me, and I'll enjoy them, and remember how baking them let me embody my thought and prayer life in a way that soothed my soul.
Friday, March 21, 2008
Things Catching My Attention
In the midst of reading and thinking and praying this afternoon, I've opened several webpages full of information, research etc. They are connected, though probably no one but me will be able to follow the connections. But, in the spirit of sharing, here are the things I'm staring at today:
Biblegateway.com search results
A Good Friday Blog entry I found particularly poignant from Phyllis Tickle's "The Divine Hours of Lent" blog.
An article on the Corpus Christi Massacre
The dictionary definition of "dogma"
The dictionary definition of "bear"
An article about a package bomb exploding in the home of a Christian Pastor in the West Bank
Biblegateway.com search results
A Good Friday Blog entry I found particularly poignant from Phyllis Tickle's "The Divine Hours of Lent" blog.
An article on the Corpus Christi Massacre
The dictionary definition of "dogma"
The dictionary definition of "bear"
An article about a package bomb exploding in the home of a Christian Pastor in the West Bank
Waiting for the Curtain to Tear
It's Good Friday again.
Lent is slowly drawing to a close, and I find myself waiting for the presence of the Lord to break through.
I had a dream this morning about a variety of things. Woke up just enough at 5:40 a.m. to scrawl it into my journal before heading back to sleep.
The last line I scrawled reads, "The curtain tears today."
Such a strong impression from the dream.
I spent the morning in a park with my best friend. A river basin that provides 2/3 of the drinking water for our city. It seemed appropriate to be there, in the source of water today. Together we shared bread and wine, remembering the body broken and the blood poured out for us. We walked and talked and laughed and prayed together. Sipped starbucks, and ate the hot-crossed buns we picked up at a local bakery. Enjoyed the sunshine and wind, and the hopefulness that comes with a day where spring seems to be peeking out.
This afternoon I'm enjoying the quiet of an empty house. There are literally several hundred books within easy reach from where I'm sitting, curled up in the chair in the corner of my bedroom. The chair I sit in to read and pray and think, and to meet with Jesus.
These are the reading items I've pulled off the shelves, the things I'm planning to spend the afternoon with, meditating, writing, reading, thinking and praying:
Lent is slowly drawing to a close, and I find myself waiting for the presence of the Lord to break through.
I had a dream this morning about a variety of things. Woke up just enough at 5:40 a.m. to scrawl it into my journal before heading back to sleep.
The last line I scrawled reads, "The curtain tears today."
Such a strong impression from the dream.
I spent the morning in a park with my best friend. A river basin that provides 2/3 of the drinking water for our city. It seemed appropriate to be there, in the source of water today. Together we shared bread and wine, remembering the body broken and the blood poured out for us. We walked and talked and laughed and prayed together. Sipped starbucks, and ate the hot-crossed buns we picked up at a local bakery. Enjoyed the sunshine and wind, and the hopefulness that comes with a day where spring seems to be peeking out.
This afternoon I'm enjoying the quiet of an empty house. There are literally several hundred books within easy reach from where I'm sitting, curled up in the chair in the corner of my bedroom. The chair I sit in to read and pray and think, and to meet with Jesus.
These are the reading items I've pulled off the shelves, the things I'm planning to spend the afternoon with, meditating, writing, reading, thinking and praying:
- Today's newspaper
- The Last Eyewitness: The Final Week (Chris Seay & David Capes)
- Take This Bread: A Radical Conversion (Sara Miles)
- Francis & Clare of Assisi: Selected Writings
- The Gift of Pain (Philip Yancey & Dr. Paul Brand)
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Conglomeration
Here are a collection of somewhat random thoughts...
My brother came through the surgery today okay. It's now a waiting game. The trauma from the surgery has to heal before we can know if his ability to use his wrist will be restored. I continue to pray for healing and restoration.
A friend from a while back recently posted a recording of a song he wrote on his blog. I remember way back when he first wrote this one, falling in love with the song, with the encouragement it offered. I listened to it quite a few times today, in the midst of praying for my brother. You can find the post (with the song) here.
I am grateful for a quiet night tonight. I really needed it. I'm also grateful for a gentle push from a friend to spend some time honestly in front of Jesus.
I'm still caught by the fact that today is the anniversary of St. Clare leaving her wealth to follow Christ. I talked about that a little this morning. It just feels oddly important in the midst of this crazy season of deepening relationship with Jesus. I can't explain it yet without far too many words that don't quite fit. I'm not sure I'll ever be able to explain it. But it is important.
I'm hanging out with my best friend tomorrow. It'll be one of the last times we get to be together before she heads overseas for the next year and a half. I'm praying for special moments, for times with Jesus.
I'm planning to spend the rest of tomorrow curled up somewhere - a park, a coffee shop, my bedroom, doesn't much matter. I just need time to read and think and pray and write. I need to make the time and space to listen for Jesus on Good Friday, to listen and wait as Lent draws to a close.
I bought a book by Henri Nouwen last night that I'm quite excited to begin reading. The title? "Clowning in Rome"
At this moment, I have that book, as well as the following titles within arm's reach:
I think I'm going to move from the couch to my bed, curl up, and read myself to sleep. Here's hoping for a night of peaceful sleep.
My brother came through the surgery today okay. It's now a waiting game. The trauma from the surgery has to heal before we can know if his ability to use his wrist will be restored. I continue to pray for healing and restoration.
A friend from a while back recently posted a recording of a song he wrote on his blog. I remember way back when he first wrote this one, falling in love with the song, with the encouragement it offered. I listened to it quite a few times today, in the midst of praying for my brother. You can find the post (with the song) here.
I am grateful for a quiet night tonight. I really needed it. I'm also grateful for a gentle push from a friend to spend some time honestly in front of Jesus.
I'm still caught by the fact that today is the anniversary of St. Clare leaving her wealth to follow Christ. I talked about that a little this morning. It just feels oddly important in the midst of this crazy season of deepening relationship with Jesus. I can't explain it yet without far too many words that don't quite fit. I'm not sure I'll ever be able to explain it. But it is important.
I'm hanging out with my best friend tomorrow. It'll be one of the last times we get to be together before she heads overseas for the next year and a half. I'm praying for special moments, for times with Jesus.
I'm planning to spend the rest of tomorrow curled up somewhere - a park, a coffee shop, my bedroom, doesn't much matter. I just need time to read and think and pray and write. I need to make the time and space to listen for Jesus on Good Friday, to listen and wait as Lent draws to a close.
I bought a book by Henri Nouwen last night that I'm quite excited to begin reading. The title? "Clowning in Rome"
At this moment, I have that book, as well as the following titles within arm's reach:
- my bible
- Francis & Clare of Assisi: Selected Writings
- The Living Reminder: Service and Prayer in Memory of Jesus Christ (Henri Nouwen)
- Take This Bread: A Radical Conversion (Sara Miles)
- The Last Eyewitness: The Final Week - John Relives Christ's Last Week Before the Crucifixion (Retold by Chris Seay & David Capes, with illustrations by Rob Pepper)
I think I'm going to move from the couch to my bed, curl up, and read myself to sleep. Here's hoping for a night of peaceful sleep.
A Day for Pushing Through
This is a mixed up sort of day.
Maundy Thursday. The day we mark the washing of the disciple’s feet, the institution of the Eucharist, the agony in Gethsemane, and the betrayal by Judas. A bloody day, filled with questions.
My baby brother is having surgery today, to hopefully correct a wrist injury he’s suffered from for nearly two years. An injury I’ve written about here before. T. has taught me so much as I’ve watched him struggle through this season. He truly felt it was God’s will to study worship and music, to major in guitar. He’d spent a year seeking the heart of God for his life after high school, and made the decision to pursue music. Within months of beginning school, he was forced to give up playing the guitar because of this injury. Over the last year and a half he has asked Jesus the hard questions, he’s struggled with the pain, and he’s walked into increasingly deep sensitivity to the word and spirit of God. Today the surgeon will shorten one of the bones in his wrist, in the hopes that the pressure that the bone creates will be alleviated, and that T’s ability to use his arm without pain will be restored. I have seen patience and depth sprout in him through this season, and today, as I mark again the body broken and the blood poured out, I am praying that God will restore wholeness to my brother’s body, because I know that the glory will be given to God alone.
March 20, 1212. The day Clare of Assisi left behind her riches and went to St. Francis to be blessed, to assume a life of poverty and devotion to Christ. I’ve been reading about Clare lately, talking about her a bit with a friend. She is the patron saint of eyes – significant in a season that has been about “seeing” with the eyes of Christ. One of only three female saints to be depicted carrying the host – the body of Christ – significant in a Lenten season that has time and time again driven home the idea of the body broken and the blood shed.
This is a day for pressing through. For remembering the verse in Hebrews that reminds us that joy comes after the suffering. “For the joy set before Him he endured the cross…”
I’ll go home from work tonight, and break a fast I’ve engaged in for the last week with bread and maybe with wine. Remembering the body broken and the blood shed. I’ll eat, and I’ll read, and I’ll pray, and I’ll rest. But until then, I’m pushing through, and the slogging feels slow and heavy.
Maundy Thursday. The day we mark the washing of the disciple’s feet, the institution of the Eucharist, the agony in Gethsemane, and the betrayal by Judas. A bloody day, filled with questions.
My baby brother is having surgery today, to hopefully correct a wrist injury he’s suffered from for nearly two years. An injury I’ve written about here before. T. has taught me so much as I’ve watched him struggle through this season. He truly felt it was God’s will to study worship and music, to major in guitar. He’d spent a year seeking the heart of God for his life after high school, and made the decision to pursue music. Within months of beginning school, he was forced to give up playing the guitar because of this injury. Over the last year and a half he has asked Jesus the hard questions, he’s struggled with the pain, and he’s walked into increasingly deep sensitivity to the word and spirit of God. Today the surgeon will shorten one of the bones in his wrist, in the hopes that the pressure that the bone creates will be alleviated, and that T’s ability to use his arm without pain will be restored. I have seen patience and depth sprout in him through this season, and today, as I mark again the body broken and the blood poured out, I am praying that God will restore wholeness to my brother’s body, because I know that the glory will be given to God alone.
March 20, 1212. The day Clare of Assisi left behind her riches and went to St. Francis to be blessed, to assume a life of poverty and devotion to Christ. I’ve been reading about Clare lately, talking about her a bit with a friend. She is the patron saint of eyes – significant in a season that has been about “seeing” with the eyes of Christ. One of only three female saints to be depicted carrying the host – the body of Christ – significant in a Lenten season that has time and time again driven home the idea of the body broken and the blood shed.
This is a day for pressing through. For remembering the verse in Hebrews that reminds us that joy comes after the suffering. “For the joy set before Him he endured the cross…”
I’ll go home from work tonight, and break a fast I’ve engaged in for the last week with bread and maybe with wine. Remembering the body broken and the blood shed. I’ll eat, and I’ll read, and I’ll pray, and I’ll rest. But until then, I’m pushing through, and the slogging feels slow and heavy.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Plans - Dashed and Future
I had great plans to hole up tonight, enjoy a quiet house and rest.
I came home to discover that the bible study my roommate usually hosts on Thursdays had been move to tonight to accomodate some scheduling changes.
It was loud in my house. Five women laughing and talking loudly, discussing, then cooking and eating together.
I wanted to spend an hour or so in the bathtub, soaking, and resting. That didn't happen either.
I'm tired. This week has been full. Full of pressing in, of reading and thinking and way too many people. I need a break. It's a good thing that this is a short week of work. I don't think I'd make it two more days. One will be enough of a challenge.
Here's my new plan. My roommate, and our houseguest will be out tomorrow night. I'm going to enjoy a silent house. I'm going to quietly break bread tomorrow night. I'm going to read, and to rest.
Tomorrow, I'm finishing out a fast, and beginning a new one of sorts. I'm praying and working and listening and reading.
Those are my plans. Quiet. Books. Prayer. Jesus. Bread.
I came home to discover that the bible study my roommate usually hosts on Thursdays had been move to tonight to accomodate some scheduling changes.
It was loud in my house. Five women laughing and talking loudly, discussing, then cooking and eating together.
I wanted to spend an hour or so in the bathtub, soaking, and resting. That didn't happen either.
I'm tired. This week has been full. Full of pressing in, of reading and thinking and way too many people. I need a break. It's a good thing that this is a short week of work. I don't think I'd make it two more days. One will be enough of a challenge.
Here's my new plan. My roommate, and our houseguest will be out tomorrow night. I'm going to enjoy a silent house. I'm going to quietly break bread tomorrow night. I'm going to read, and to rest.
Tomorrow, I'm finishing out a fast, and beginning a new one of sorts. I'm praying and working and listening and reading.
Those are my plans. Quiet. Books. Prayer. Jesus. Bread.
Moving slower, healing deeper
I was listening to Jason Upton's "Trusting the Angels" album this morning, and found myself quite caught by the following lines. So descriptive of this Lenten season, and the broader season of my life right now. I'm moving slower, and it's taking a little longer, but I'm healing deeper and feeling stronger. This is a painful space, but a good space.
Now I’m moving slower and it takes a little longer
But I’m healing deeper and I’m feeling stronger
It’s tearing down defenses and opening my senses
To the wonder of a lover crying out
Come now let’s reason together
Come now where blood turns to wool
Come now where fire is the measure
Come now where fools turn to gold
Now I’m moving slower and it takes a little longer
But I’m healing deeper and I’m feeling stronger
It’s tearing down defenses and opening my senses
To the wonder of a lover crying out
Come now let’s reason together
Come now where blood turns to wool
Come now where fire is the measure
Come now where fools turn to gold
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
A Day Late - St. Patrick's Day!
I know I'm a day late, but I spent yesterday meditating on and enjoying St. Patrick's "Breastplate" Prayer, in honor of St. Patrick's Day.
You can find the whole prayer here.
I particularly like this bit:
Christ to shield me today
Against poison, against burning,
Against drowning, against wounding,
So that there may come to me abundance of reward.
Christ with me, Christ before me, Christ behind me,
Christ in me, Christ beneath me, Christ above me,
Christ on my right, Christ on my left,
Christ when I lie down, Christ when I sit down, Christ when I arise,
Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me,Christ in the mouth of everyone who speaks of me,Christ in every eye that sees me,
Christ in every ear that hears me.
I arise today
Through a mighty strength,
the invocation of the Trinity,
Through belief in the threeness,
Through confession of the oneness,
Of the Creator of Creation.
You can find the whole prayer here.
I particularly like this bit:
Christ to shield me today
Against poison, against burning,
Against drowning, against wounding,
So that there may come to me abundance of reward.
Christ with me, Christ before me, Christ behind me,
Christ in me, Christ beneath me, Christ above me,
Christ on my right, Christ on my left,
Christ when I lie down, Christ when I sit down, Christ when I arise,
Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me,Christ in the mouth of everyone who speaks of me,Christ in every eye that sees me,
Christ in every ear that hears me.
I arise today
Through a mighty strength,
the invocation of the Trinity,
Through belief in the threeness,
Through confession of the oneness,
Of the Creator of Creation.
Several More Thoughts from Henri Nouwen
Here are a few more thoughts from Henri Nouwen to add to the ongoing collection, and to the conversations I've been having with friends.
An Honest Being-With
Being with a friend in great pain is not easy. It makes us uncomfortable. We do not know what to do or what to say, and we worry about how to respond to what we hear. Our temptation is to say things that come more out of our own fear than out of our care for the person in pain. Sometimes we say things like "Well, you're doing a lot better than yesterday," or "You will soon be your old self again," or "I'm sure you will get over this." But often we know that what we're saying is not true, and our friends know it too.
We do not have to play games with each other. We can simply say: "I am your friend, I am happy to be with you." We can say that in words or with touch or with loving silence. Sometimes it is good to say: "You don't have to talk. Just close your eyes. I am here with you, thinking of you, praying for you, loving you."
The Virtue of Flexibility
Trees look strong compared with the wild reeds in the field. But when the storm comes the trees are uprooted, whereas the wild reeds, while moved back and forth by the wind, remain rooted and are standing up again when the storm has calmed down.
Flexibility is a great virtue. When we cling to our own positions and are not willing to let our hearts be moved back and forth a little by the ideas or actions of others, we may easily be broken. Being like wild reeds does not mean being wishy-washy. It means moving a little with the winds of the time while remaining solidly anchored in the ground. A humorless, intense, opinionated rigidity about current issues might cause these issues to break our spirits and make us bitter people. Let's be flexible while being deeply rooted.
Not Breaking the Bruised Reeds
Some of us tend to do away with things that are slightly damaged. Instead of repairing them we say: "Well, I don't have time to fix it, I might as well throw it in the garbage can and buy a new one." Often we also treat people this way. We say: "Well, he has a problem with drinking; well, she is quite depressed; well, they have mismanaged their business...we'd better not take the risk of working with them." When we dismiss people out of hand because of their apparent woundedness, we stunt their lives by ignoring their gifts, which are often buried in their wounds.
We all are bruised reeds, whether our bruises are visible or not. The compassionate life is the life in which we believe that strength is hidden in weakness and that true community is a fellowship of the weak.
Coming Together in Poverty
There are many forms of poverty: economic poverty, physical poverty, emotional poverty, mental poverty, and spiritual poverty. As long as we relate primarily to each other's wealth, health, stability, intelligence, and soul strength, we cannot develop true community. Community is not a talent show in which we dazzle the world with our combined gifts. Community is the place where our poverty is acknowledged and accepted, not as something we have to learn to cope with as best as we can but as a true source of new life.
Living community in whatever form - family, parish, twelve-step program, or intentional community - challenges us to come together at the place of our poverty, believing that there we can reveal our richness.
An Honest Being-With
Being with a friend in great pain is not easy. It makes us uncomfortable. We do not know what to do or what to say, and we worry about how to respond to what we hear. Our temptation is to say things that come more out of our own fear than out of our care for the person in pain. Sometimes we say things like "Well, you're doing a lot better than yesterday," or "You will soon be your old self again," or "I'm sure you will get over this." But often we know that what we're saying is not true, and our friends know it too.
We do not have to play games with each other. We can simply say: "I am your friend, I am happy to be with you." We can say that in words or with touch or with loving silence. Sometimes it is good to say: "You don't have to talk. Just close your eyes. I am here with you, thinking of you, praying for you, loving you."
The Virtue of Flexibility
Trees look strong compared with the wild reeds in the field. But when the storm comes the trees are uprooted, whereas the wild reeds, while moved back and forth by the wind, remain rooted and are standing up again when the storm has calmed down.
Flexibility is a great virtue. When we cling to our own positions and are not willing to let our hearts be moved back and forth a little by the ideas or actions of others, we may easily be broken. Being like wild reeds does not mean being wishy-washy. It means moving a little with the winds of the time while remaining solidly anchored in the ground. A humorless, intense, opinionated rigidity about current issues might cause these issues to break our spirits and make us bitter people. Let's be flexible while being deeply rooted.
Not Breaking the Bruised Reeds
Some of us tend to do away with things that are slightly damaged. Instead of repairing them we say: "Well, I don't have time to fix it, I might as well throw it in the garbage can and buy a new one." Often we also treat people this way. We say: "Well, he has a problem with drinking; well, she is quite depressed; well, they have mismanaged their business...we'd better not take the risk of working with them." When we dismiss people out of hand because of their apparent woundedness, we stunt their lives by ignoring their gifts, which are often buried in their wounds.
We all are bruised reeds, whether our bruises are visible or not. The compassionate life is the life in which we believe that strength is hidden in weakness and that true community is a fellowship of the weak.
Coming Together in Poverty
There are many forms of poverty: economic poverty, physical poverty, emotional poverty, mental poverty, and spiritual poverty. As long as we relate primarily to each other's wealth, health, stability, intelligence, and soul strength, we cannot develop true community. Community is not a talent show in which we dazzle the world with our combined gifts. Community is the place where our poverty is acknowledged and accepted, not as something we have to learn to cope with as best as we can but as a true source of new life.
Living community in whatever form - family, parish, twelve-step program, or intentional community - challenges us to come together at the place of our poverty, believing that there we can reveal our richness.
Monday, March 17, 2008
Surrender (Part 2)
I'd forgotten about these lyrics from Rich Mullins, until the song came up today on a playlist I created to send to a friend for her birthday last month. They fit nicely, I think, with the space I'm occupying, and are rather descriptive of the process of fighting and surrender.
Surrender don't come natural to me
I'd rather fight You for something I don't really want
Than to take what You give that I need
And I've beat my head against so many walls
Now I'm falling down, I'm falling on my knees
So hold me Jesus, 'cause I'm shaking like a leaf
You have been King of my glory
Won't You be my Prince of Peace
(Hold Me Jesus, Rich Mullins)
Surrender don't come natural to me
I'd rather fight You for something I don't really want
Than to take what You give that I need
And I've beat my head against so many walls
Now I'm falling down, I'm falling on my knees
So hold me Jesus, 'cause I'm shaking like a leaf
You have been King of my glory
Won't You be my Prince of Peace
(Hold Me Jesus, Rich Mullins)
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Great Quote
My dad used this quote from N.T. Wright in his sermon this morning, and I liked it so much I thought I'd pass it along to you:
“The whole point of Jesus’ work was to bring heaven to earth and join them together forever, to bring God’s future into the present and make it stick there. But when heaven comes to earth and finds earth unready, when God’s future arrives in the present while people are still asleep, there will be explosions. And there were.” (N.T. Wright, Simply Christian, p.102)
“The whole point of Jesus’ work was to bring heaven to earth and join them together forever, to bring God’s future into the present and make it stick there. But when heaven comes to earth and finds earth unready, when God’s future arrives in the present while people are still asleep, there will be explosions. And there were.” (N.T. Wright, Simply Christian, p.102)
Surrender
I want to share here something I wrote in my journal this morning. I'm sharing it because it's important, but it's hard, too. It's messy. It's painful. It's forcing me into deep and quiet places. If over this next week, I don't have much to say here, this is why.
Surrender: to give oneself up, as into the power of another; submit or yield. (www.dictionary.com)
I’ve spent the last two and a half days rediscovering just exactly how bad I am at surrender. I’ve tried arguing, negotiation, ignoring, baiting, avoiding, and running in the opposite direction. None of them worked.
You see, there are things that Jesus is asking of me right now that I don’t like. Things that scare me – terrify me actually. There is a slow shattering that is occurring that I find frightening and painful. There seems to be the promise of freedom in it, but it has seemed that freedom only comes at a cost so high I’ve not been sure I’m willing to pay it.
I went alone to Palm Sunday Mass last night. Traveled downtown to the cathedral where I attended mass in high school. I picked the cathedral because I knew there would be enough people in attendance that I could slip in and out anonymously. Just me, and time with the Lord, in a corporate setting that would also allow me the freedom of my own thoughts. I went alone, because I somehow knew that I wouldn’t want to talk with anyone once it ended.
So I sat, and stood, and knelt and sang. I accepted the strips of palm leaves that someone handed me. I prayed, and wished “peace be with you” on those around me. And I listened and was caught off guard by what I heard. I wasn’t expecting the Passion to be the topic of discussion. Protestants talk about the triumph on Palm Sunday – the entry of Jesus into Jerusalem, with the crowds giving praise. We talk about the triumph and we leave it there. The triumph was hardly mentioned. What caught me deeply off guard was the long, responsorial reading of the gospel passage. Three readers at the front, a narrator, a voice, and Jesus, with occasional parts for the whole congregation to join in. So we read, from the entry into Jerusalem, through the breaking of bread at Passover, through the suffering and arrest in the garden, through the trials and the whipping and the crucifixion. And as I dutifully followed along, I was caught off guard by the part the congregation was asked to read. We played the role of the crowd – the accusers. The ones demanding the release of Barrabas, and shouting “Crucify Him”. And it hit me that I am part of that crowd in a way that it has never hit me before. That I stand there, sinful. That Jesus shed his blood for me. And that I am fighting against the will of the one who was willing to die in my place.
I reflected in my journal last night that for the first time in my life I am dreading the journey through Holy Week. I usually find it enjoyable. Well, enjoyable may be the wrong word to use, but I generally find it to be a week of positive reflection. As I look into this coming week, I see nothing but images of shed blood, of broken bodies, of my own heart finally and completely shattering. And I dread the coming pain.
Surrender, I’m discovering is not an easy or painless thing. It is rarely bloodless or tidy. It is the thing that comes after the battle, when the losing side is too weak to carry on, and the cost in lives would be too high to let the battle carry on. It is not a place of negotiation. You can ask for the conditions you desire, but you ask from a position of weakness. You’ve lost, and the victor holds the power in the negotiation.
It’s taken me two and a half days of fighting to find a place of surrender. To reach a place of crying out to Jesus that I need Him to once again set me free, and that I’ll go where He asks and do what He requests in order that I may find that freedom. It happened at 8:10 this morning, after a night passed in alternating bouts of arguing and sleep. In dreams and uncertainties, and pain and anger and tears. One line from a David Crowder Band song came through my head, and I cried it out to the Lord, “Deliver me.” I saw an immediate picture, of a strong leather strap wrapped around me snapping, and four things flew into the air and away from me.
I’m still dreading Holy Week. I dread the lecture I’m attending tonight, that I know will draw me deeper into a place of brokenness on behalf of the world. I dread the moments of hunger. I dread all the other moments I know are coming. The body broken and the blood poured out. But in that dread I see beauty forming. I see the hope of resurrection, of new life. I see myself being pulled deeper, and I am thankful.
Surrender: to give oneself up, as into the power of another; submit or yield. (www.dictionary.com)
I’ve spent the last two and a half days rediscovering just exactly how bad I am at surrender. I’ve tried arguing, negotiation, ignoring, baiting, avoiding, and running in the opposite direction. None of them worked.
You see, there are things that Jesus is asking of me right now that I don’t like. Things that scare me – terrify me actually. There is a slow shattering that is occurring that I find frightening and painful. There seems to be the promise of freedom in it, but it has seemed that freedom only comes at a cost so high I’ve not been sure I’m willing to pay it.
I went alone to Palm Sunday Mass last night. Traveled downtown to the cathedral where I attended mass in high school. I picked the cathedral because I knew there would be enough people in attendance that I could slip in and out anonymously. Just me, and time with the Lord, in a corporate setting that would also allow me the freedom of my own thoughts. I went alone, because I somehow knew that I wouldn’t want to talk with anyone once it ended.
So I sat, and stood, and knelt and sang. I accepted the strips of palm leaves that someone handed me. I prayed, and wished “peace be with you” on those around me. And I listened and was caught off guard by what I heard. I wasn’t expecting the Passion to be the topic of discussion. Protestants talk about the triumph on Palm Sunday – the entry of Jesus into Jerusalem, with the crowds giving praise. We talk about the triumph and we leave it there. The triumph was hardly mentioned. What caught me deeply off guard was the long, responsorial reading of the gospel passage. Three readers at the front, a narrator, a voice, and Jesus, with occasional parts for the whole congregation to join in. So we read, from the entry into Jerusalem, through the breaking of bread at Passover, through the suffering and arrest in the garden, through the trials and the whipping and the crucifixion. And as I dutifully followed along, I was caught off guard by the part the congregation was asked to read. We played the role of the crowd – the accusers. The ones demanding the release of Barrabas, and shouting “Crucify Him”. And it hit me that I am part of that crowd in a way that it has never hit me before. That I stand there, sinful. That Jesus shed his blood for me. And that I am fighting against the will of the one who was willing to die in my place.
I reflected in my journal last night that for the first time in my life I am dreading the journey through Holy Week. I usually find it enjoyable. Well, enjoyable may be the wrong word to use, but I generally find it to be a week of positive reflection. As I look into this coming week, I see nothing but images of shed blood, of broken bodies, of my own heart finally and completely shattering. And I dread the coming pain.
Surrender, I’m discovering is not an easy or painless thing. It is rarely bloodless or tidy. It is the thing that comes after the battle, when the losing side is too weak to carry on, and the cost in lives would be too high to let the battle carry on. It is not a place of negotiation. You can ask for the conditions you desire, but you ask from a position of weakness. You’ve lost, and the victor holds the power in the negotiation.
It’s taken me two and a half days of fighting to find a place of surrender. To reach a place of crying out to Jesus that I need Him to once again set me free, and that I’ll go where He asks and do what He requests in order that I may find that freedom. It happened at 8:10 this morning, after a night passed in alternating bouts of arguing and sleep. In dreams and uncertainties, and pain and anger and tears. One line from a David Crowder Band song came through my head, and I cried it out to the Lord, “Deliver me.” I saw an immediate picture, of a strong leather strap wrapped around me snapping, and four things flew into the air and away from me.
I’m still dreading Holy Week. I dread the lecture I’m attending tonight, that I know will draw me deeper into a place of brokenness on behalf of the world. I dread the moments of hunger. I dread all the other moments I know are coming. The body broken and the blood poured out. But in that dread I see beauty forming. I see the hope of resurrection, of new life. I see myself being pulled deeper, and I am thankful.
Saturday, March 15, 2008
Saturday Smile List
It's been a rough few days, and I find myself rather desperately in need of a pause, and a list of things I'm thankful for - things that are making me smile. So, without further ado, here is the Saturday, March 15, 2008 edition of my smile list:
- clean house
- fresh sheets on my bed to crawl into tonight
- chickpeas - I actually quite enjoy chickpeas once in a while
- green grapes from the farmer's market - particularly sweet and tangy today
- friends who share hearts with me - spread across the country, and even the globe
- the story of Lazarus
- David Crowder Band - particularly their "A Collision" album and "Remedy" album, which I've been listening to nearly constantly this week
- finances that have finally stabilized after travelling
- 45 dollars worth of fresh fruit and veggies from the farmer's market sitting in my fridge and waiting to be consumed
- that there was at least one night this week where I slept relatively peacefully for at least 4 hours.
- plans to go to mass this evening
- flip flops, yoga capris and a comfy t-shirt for hanging around the house and cleaning.
- a favorite teddy bear
- a comfy corner in my bedroom in which to curl up, or prop my feet up and settle in with a book
- Rocky Mountain Soap Company's "Sore Muscle Therapy" and "Green Apple" lip balm
- running into my aunt and uncle at the market, enjoying a quick coffee with them, and being offered an unexpected ride home
- a quiet, empty house since my roommate and our house guest are out for most of the day
- water
- mandarin oranges
- the ability to read and write
- photos of Paris on my living room wall
- soft pillows
- lemon mango fruit infusion loose tea from Oolong Tea House
- emails from friends
- itunes
- days when you really can just kick back for even a little while, and escape the intensity of life
Friday, March 14, 2008
The Narrow Way
I love this image that David Hayward, "The Naked Pastor" drew and put on his blog. Especially today. The Narrow Way.
It reminds me of a friend, and an ongoing conversation that we've been having through the Lenten season. It speaks to me after a day of fighting, and reminds me that I knew it wouldn't be easy when I signed up.
It reminded me, too, of a Jason Upton song "The King's Way" off of his "Great River Road" album:
There is a road
That leads to peace
That leads to life
But few will follow
We're at the crossroad
Which way will we go
There is not today a more holy way
Than the steps that lead me to the cross
Where my will can't be the priority
And these crowns I've gained
I count as loss
When I hear the spirit say
That this is the true King's way
It reminds me of a friend, and an ongoing conversation that we've been having through the Lenten season. It speaks to me after a day of fighting, and reminds me that I knew it wouldn't be easy when I signed up.
It reminded me, too, of a Jason Upton song "The King's Way" off of his "Great River Road" album:
There is a road
That leads to peace
That leads to life
But few will follow
We're at the crossroad
Which way will we go
There is not today a more holy way
Than the steps that lead me to the cross
Where my will can't be the priority
And these crowns I've gained
I count as loss
When I hear the spirit say
That this is the true King's way
4 thoughts from Henri Nouwen
I'm having an argument with the Lord just presently, over the shape and contents of the next week or so of my life. So, while I sort that out in a somewhat more private forum than my blog offers, for today I have several great reflections to share with you from Henri Nouwen that I've received over the course of the last week or so.
Listening as Spiritual Hospitality
To listen is very hard, because it asks of us so much interior stability that we no longer need to prove ourselves by speeches, arguments, statements, or declarations. True listeners no longer have an inner need to make their presence known. They are free to receive, to welcome, to accept.
Listening is much more than allowing another to talk while waiting for a chance to respond. Listening is paying full attention to others and welcoming them into our very beings. The beauty of listening is that, those who are listened to start feeling accepted, start taking their words more seriously and discovering their own true selves. Listening is a form of spiritual hospitality by which you invite strangers to become friends, to get to know their inner selves more fully, and even to dare to be silent with you.
The Spirit of Jesus Listening in us
Listening in the spiritual life is much more than a psychological strategy to help others discover themselves. In the spiritual life the listener is not the ego, which would like to speak but is trained to restrain itself, but the Spirit of God within us. When we are baptised in the Spirit - that is, when we have received the Spirit of Jesus as the breath of God breathing within us - that Spirit creates in us a sacred space where the other can be received and listened to. The Spirit of Jesus prays in us and listens in us to all who come to us with their sufferings and pains.
When we dare to fully trust in the power of God's Spirit listening in us, we will see true healing occur.
Absence That Creates Presence
It is good to visit people who are sick, dying, shut in, handicapped, or lonely. But it is also important not to feel guilty when our visits have to be short or can only happen occasionally. Often we are so apologetic about our limitations that our apologies prevent us from really being with the other when we are there. A short time fully present to a sick person is much better than a long time with many explanations of why we are too busy to come more often.
If we are able to be fully present to our friends when we are with them, our absence too will bear many fruits. Our friends will say: "He visited me" or "She visited me," and discover in our absence the lasting grace of our presence.
Bringing the Spirit Through Leaving
It is often in our absence that the Spirit of God manifests itself. When Jesus left his disciples he said: "It is for your own good that I am going, because unless I go, the Paraclete [the Spirit] will not come to you. However, when the Spirit of truth comes he will lead you to the complete truth" (John 16: 7;13). It was only in Jesus' absence that his friends discovered the full meaning of his presence. It was only in his absence that they completely understood his words and experienced full communion with him; and it was only in his absence that they could gather in a community of faith, hope, and love.
When we claim for ourselves that we come to our friends in the Name of Jesus - that through us Jesus becomes present to them - we can trust that our leaving will also bring them the Spirit of Jesus. Thus, not only our presence but also our absence becomes a gift to others.
Listening as Spiritual Hospitality
To listen is very hard, because it asks of us so much interior stability that we no longer need to prove ourselves by speeches, arguments, statements, or declarations. True listeners no longer have an inner need to make their presence known. They are free to receive, to welcome, to accept.
Listening is much more than allowing another to talk while waiting for a chance to respond. Listening is paying full attention to others and welcoming them into our very beings. The beauty of listening is that, those who are listened to start feeling accepted, start taking their words more seriously and discovering their own true selves. Listening is a form of spiritual hospitality by which you invite strangers to become friends, to get to know their inner selves more fully, and even to dare to be silent with you.
The Spirit of Jesus Listening in us
Listening in the spiritual life is much more than a psychological strategy to help others discover themselves. In the spiritual life the listener is not the ego, which would like to speak but is trained to restrain itself, but the Spirit of God within us. When we are baptised in the Spirit - that is, when we have received the Spirit of Jesus as the breath of God breathing within us - that Spirit creates in us a sacred space where the other can be received and listened to. The Spirit of Jesus prays in us and listens in us to all who come to us with their sufferings and pains.
When we dare to fully trust in the power of God's Spirit listening in us, we will see true healing occur.
Absence That Creates Presence
It is good to visit people who are sick, dying, shut in, handicapped, or lonely. But it is also important not to feel guilty when our visits have to be short or can only happen occasionally. Often we are so apologetic about our limitations that our apologies prevent us from really being with the other when we are there. A short time fully present to a sick person is much better than a long time with many explanations of why we are too busy to come more often.
If we are able to be fully present to our friends when we are with them, our absence too will bear many fruits. Our friends will say: "He visited me" or "She visited me," and discover in our absence the lasting grace of our presence.
Bringing the Spirit Through Leaving
It is often in our absence that the Spirit of God manifests itself. When Jesus left his disciples he said: "It is for your own good that I am going, because unless I go, the Paraclete [the Spirit] will not come to you. However, when the Spirit of truth comes he will lead you to the complete truth" (John 16: 7;13). It was only in Jesus' absence that his friends discovered the full meaning of his presence. It was only in his absence that they completely understood his words and experienced full communion with him; and it was only in his absence that they could gather in a community of faith, hope, and love.
When we claim for ourselves that we come to our friends in the Name of Jesus - that through us Jesus becomes present to them - we can trust that our leaving will also bring them the Spirit of Jesus. Thus, not only our presence but also our absence becomes a gift to others.
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Tea lights and feet propping
There are certain things that I should never be allowed to do when I am trying to be "financially responsible". One of those things is to make a trip to Ikea.
I made a trip to Ikea tonight.
You see, I have to occasionally go to Ikea. I have this thing for tea lights (those tiny little candles), and the tea lights from Ikea are the best ones around. And, they only cost $3.69 for 100. I've been going through tea-lights on a pretty large scale lately, and thought I'd take the the time to make a quick Ikea run and pick up a couple hundred more.
I also bought a footstool. Which is something I've been thinking about for a long time, but was not something on the list of anytime soon planned purchases.
But hey... it was nearly 50% off, and all told, I bought a cushion to prop my feet on, and 200 tea lights for about $40. Not too bad if I do say so myself.
And, this was a weird day, so a little retail therapy was kind of a nice way to end it!
I made a trip to Ikea tonight.
You see, I have to occasionally go to Ikea. I have this thing for tea lights (those tiny little candles), and the tea lights from Ikea are the best ones around. And, they only cost $3.69 for 100. I've been going through tea-lights on a pretty large scale lately, and thought I'd take the the time to make a quick Ikea run and pick up a couple hundred more.
I also bought a footstool. Which is something I've been thinking about for a long time, but was not something on the list of anytime soon planned purchases.
But hey... it was nearly 50% off, and all told, I bought a cushion to prop my feet on, and 200 tea lights for about $40. Not too bad if I do say so myself.
And, this was a weird day, so a little retail therapy was kind of a nice way to end it!
2008 Prophecy and Other Fun Things
Brian Heasley posted on his blog the following "prophecy" for the church in 2008 that he came across somewhere on the internet, and I liked it so much I've stolen it... (also, if you scroll down, I've linked to a few other things I liked in my morning blog/website perusals for the day)
"The church will continue to huddle together in it's consumeristic bubble. We will sing more bless me songs than in any previous year, we will still choose where we worship by the quality of the performance on a Sunday. Church could continue to be the meeting and not the people.
We will still love all that is large glitzy and glamorous, superstar preachers and worship leaders will direct us into a path of comfort and self help whilst the world outside our comfortable services goes to shit. We will talk of prosperity and blessing whilst our global ecological footprint and selfish lifestyles ever increasingly destroy the world. No one will be able to argue with these mega leaders because somehow our culture has proclaimed that big is beautiful and if it's big it is successful therefore leaders of big churches are pedestal-led they become increasingly difficult to argue with and very un-accountable.
Maybe someone will do a prophetic dance about it, I see someone prophetically waving a brown flag around the outside of the building symbolically representing the shitty world. It's okay she may dance strangely but no one in church will notice, they will will be too busy singing "Holy Spirit come and fill ME up".
I wonder if the Holy Spirit ever gets fed up with this song? Maybe she's thinking "Fill you up for what? you haven't done anything with the last lot of my life that I gave you!"
2008 could mean more of the same, but I see tiny plants breaking through the concrete of the established church structures, they don't look like much, in fact to many they look like weeds that should be pulled up and destroyed. There is strength in their fragility they will over the next 3 decades weaken existing hierarchical male dominated celebrity driven church cultures.
They will grow well, because they have chose to live in the shit, they will be well fertilized by the needy world that they serve."
I also liked this article on Relevant Magazine: Dirty Love
And this article: The Daily Kingdom
This cartoon at The Naked Pastor: In or Out?
"The church will continue to huddle together in it's consumeristic bubble. We will sing more bless me songs than in any previous year, we will still choose where we worship by the quality of the performance on a Sunday. Church could continue to be the meeting and not the people.
We will still love all that is large glitzy and glamorous, superstar preachers and worship leaders will direct us into a path of comfort and self help whilst the world outside our comfortable services goes to shit. We will talk of prosperity and blessing whilst our global ecological footprint and selfish lifestyles ever increasingly destroy the world. No one will be able to argue with these mega leaders because somehow our culture has proclaimed that big is beautiful and if it's big it is successful therefore leaders of big churches are pedestal-led they become increasingly difficult to argue with and very un-accountable.
Maybe someone will do a prophetic dance about it, I see someone prophetically waving a brown flag around the outside of the building symbolically representing the shitty world. It's okay she may dance strangely but no one in church will notice, they will will be too busy singing "Holy Spirit come and fill ME up".
I wonder if the Holy Spirit ever gets fed up with this song? Maybe she's thinking "Fill you up for what? you haven't done anything with the last lot of my life that I gave you!"
2008 could mean more of the same, but I see tiny plants breaking through the concrete of the established church structures, they don't look like much, in fact to many they look like weeds that should be pulled up and destroyed. There is strength in their fragility they will over the next 3 decades weaken existing hierarchical male dominated celebrity driven church cultures.
They will grow well, because they have chose to live in the shit, they will be well fertilized by the needy world that they serve."
I also liked this article on Relevant Magazine: Dirty Love
And this article: The Daily Kingdom
This cartoon at The Naked Pastor: In or Out?
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Fasting, Lamentations, and Surely We Can Change
Today is another fast day during Lent for me. Liquids only. Fruit juice, tea, water. (I get severe headaches if I don’t add the fruit juice thanks to the fluctuations in blood sugar.) Today’s fast wasn’t scheduled, it just seemed to flow naturally from the time of prayer and meditation I had last night, a time that seemed to carry itself right on through my sleep. A place of talking to the Lord about my own life, and the lives of those I love. Of standing in the gap and crying out.
I read Lamentations last night. Was caught by it once again. The words of the weeping prophet, crying out to the Lord for the nation and people he loves. The words from a pit, and yet the hope that remains.
The thought of my suffering and homelessness
is bitter beyond words
I will never forget this awful time,
as I grieve over my loss.
Yet I still dare to hope
when I remember this:
The faithful love of the Lord never ends!
His mercies never cease.
Great is his faithfulness;
his mercies begin afresh each morning.
I say to myself, “The Lord is my inheritance;
therefore, I will hope in him!”
The Lord is good to those who depend on him,
to those who search for him.
So it is good to wait quietly
for salvation from the Lord.
(Lamentations 3:19-26 NLT)
I’ve been listening rather constantly the last few days to David Crowder Band’s latest album “Remedy”. There is something about their music that always speaks to the deepest places that my heart is occupying. I’m caught by the whole album, but this morning, particularly by this last song (Surely We Can Change), and the way it speaks to the themes I find myself thinking and talking about through the course of Lent, and the things I find myself talking with the Lord about on this day of fasting.
And the problem is this
We were bought with a kiss
But the cheek still turned
Even when it wasn’t hit
And I don’t know
What to do with a love like that
And I don’t know
How to be a love like that
When all the love in the world
Is right here among us
And hatred too
And so we must choose
What our hands will do
Where there is pain
Let there be grace
Where there is suffering
Bring serenity
For those afraid
Help them be brave
Where there is misery
Bring expectancy
And surely we can change
Surely we can change
Something
And the problem it seems
Is with you and me
Not the Love who came
To repair everything
Where there is pain
Let us bring grace
Where there is suffering
Bring serenity
For those afraid
Let us be brave
Where there is misery
Let us bring them relief
And surely we can change
Surely we can change
Oh surely we can change
Something
Oh, the world’s about to change
The whole world’s about to change
I read Lamentations last night. Was caught by it once again. The words of the weeping prophet, crying out to the Lord for the nation and people he loves. The words from a pit, and yet the hope that remains.
The thought of my suffering and homelessness
is bitter beyond words
I will never forget this awful time,
as I grieve over my loss.
Yet I still dare to hope
when I remember this:
The faithful love of the Lord never ends!
His mercies never cease.
Great is his faithfulness;
his mercies begin afresh each morning.
I say to myself, “The Lord is my inheritance;
therefore, I will hope in him!”
The Lord is good to those who depend on him,
to those who search for him.
So it is good to wait quietly
for salvation from the Lord.
(Lamentations 3:19-26 NLT)
I’ve been listening rather constantly the last few days to David Crowder Band’s latest album “Remedy”. There is something about their music that always speaks to the deepest places that my heart is occupying. I’m caught by the whole album, but this morning, particularly by this last song (Surely We Can Change), and the way it speaks to the themes I find myself thinking and talking about through the course of Lent, and the things I find myself talking with the Lord about on this day of fasting.
And the problem is this
We were bought with a kiss
But the cheek still turned
Even when it wasn’t hit
And I don’t know
What to do with a love like that
And I don’t know
How to be a love like that
When all the love in the world
Is right here among us
And hatred too
And so we must choose
What our hands will do
Where there is pain
Let there be grace
Where there is suffering
Bring serenity
For those afraid
Help them be brave
Where there is misery
Bring expectancy
And surely we can change
Surely we can change
Something
And the problem it seems
Is with you and me
Not the Love who came
To repair everything
Where there is pain
Let us bring grace
Where there is suffering
Bring serenity
For those afraid
Let us be brave
Where there is misery
Let us bring them relief
And surely we can change
Surely we can change
Oh surely we can change
Something
Oh, the world’s about to change
The whole world’s about to change
Monday, March 10, 2008
From a ways back...
I was reading through a few blog archives tonight, searching for a particular post I'd written, and I came across one that I wrote within two weeks of my healing from depression. I wrote a paragraph in that post, back in November 2005 that still holds true today, and I thought I'd bring it forward for you to share with me... The time related phrases could be changed from two weeks to "six months" to more accurately reflect this current season, but other than that...
The last two weeks and a bit have been insane, but so good. I have known God's presence in ways I would never have expected, or even wanted, but I am tired. I don't want to go back - I'm loving this new place in my journey - loving that breakthroughs are finally happening, but boy is it tiring. I think I know why the ancient monks spent so many hours alone!
The last two weeks and a bit have been insane, but so good. I have known God's presence in ways I would never have expected, or even wanted, but I am tired. I don't want to go back - I'm loving this new place in my journey - loving that breakthroughs are finally happening, but boy is it tiring. I think I know why the ancient monks spent so many hours alone!
Iraq and a dream about Jesus
I don't know exactly how I feel about the war in Iraq, and I'm not planning to try and resolve that question anytime soon. However, I was completely caught by this blog post Shane Claiborne wrote for the Sojourner's blog.
Somehow, I think I've met the Jesus who would let his body be torn to shreds while shielding children like a mother hen.
This touched on some of the ideas I've been thinking about through this Lenten season... the number of things speaking to those themes grows daily, and I am amazed at the way God is reinforcing points. And at some point, I'll probably let those points begin to surface here...
Somehow, I think I've met the Jesus who would let his body be torn to shreds while shielding children like a mother hen.
This touched on some of the ideas I've been thinking about through this Lenten season... the number of things speaking to those themes grows daily, and I am amazed at the way God is reinforcing points. And at some point, I'll probably let those points begin to surface here...
Our Unique Call - Henri Nouwen
Another helpful thought from Henri Nouwen...
Our Unique Call
So many terrible things happen every day that we start wondering whether the few things we do ourselves make any sense. When people are starving only a few thousand miles away, when wars are raging close to our borders, when countless people in our own cities have no homes to live in, our own activities look futile. Such considerations, however, can paralyse us and depress us.
Here the word call becomes important. We are not called to save the world, solve all problems, and help all people. But we each have our own unique call, in our families, in our work, in our world. We have to keep asking God to help us see clearly what our call is and to give us the strength to live out that call with trust. Then we will discover that our faithfulness to a small task is the most healing response to the illnesses of our time.
Our Unique Call
So many terrible things happen every day that we start wondering whether the few things we do ourselves make any sense. When people are starving only a few thousand miles away, when wars are raging close to our borders, when countless people in our own cities have no homes to live in, our own activities look futile. Such considerations, however, can paralyse us and depress us.
Here the word call becomes important. We are not called to save the world, solve all problems, and help all people. But we each have our own unique call, in our families, in our work, in our world. We have to keep asking God to help us see clearly what our call is and to give us the strength to live out that call with trust. Then we will discover that our faithfulness to a small task is the most healing response to the illnesses of our time.
Sunday, March 09, 2008
Back into the Week
I've been writing a whole lot more in my journal these days than on my blog. Lent does that to me. Makes me far more introspective and uncertain, and unwilling to share the introspection and uncertainty with a wider audience until it's reached some sort of resolution.
I'm heading back into the week first thing tomorrow morning. A week full of meetings and busyness at work. A week with some apprehension as I wonder how things will work out. A week that is mercifully (thus far!) quiet on the social engagement front.
I milk every last moment out of my weekends these days, saving my biggest spurts of writing and introspection for late on Sunday night, in the rush to get it all out before I encounter the fuller schedule of my weekdays.
The fuller schedule isn't necessarily bad. As one friend reminded me this week, work = money, and money = food, rent, long distance phone conversations. In terms of motivators, I suppose all three of those are high on my list.
But I'd rather pass my days with a good book, talking with friends (and even some strangers), writing, sipping tea, and dreaming.
Ah well. For now, I'm heading back into the week.
I'm heading back into the week first thing tomorrow morning. A week full of meetings and busyness at work. A week with some apprehension as I wonder how things will work out. A week that is mercifully (thus far!) quiet on the social engagement front.
I milk every last moment out of my weekends these days, saving my biggest spurts of writing and introspection for late on Sunday night, in the rush to get it all out before I encounter the fuller schedule of my weekdays.
The fuller schedule isn't necessarily bad. As one friend reminded me this week, work = money, and money = food, rent, long distance phone conversations. In terms of motivators, I suppose all three of those are high on my list.
But I'd rather pass my days with a good book, talking with friends (and even some strangers), writing, sipping tea, and dreaming.
Ah well. For now, I'm heading back into the week.
Thoughts on Pain
I've been thinking and talking with friends a lot about pain over the course of this Lenten season. I'm not ready to share any of my own conclusions here yet. (Mostly because I'm not certain I have reached any conclusions.) But I did read this blog post this morning, which I thought made some rather good points, so I thought I'd link to it for your edification.
Saturday, March 08, 2008
Within Arms Reach
Right now, I'm comfortably ensconced on a love seat in my living room, wrapped in a favorite blanket, with a pillow nearby (should the possibility of napping arise). I'm settled in for an afternoon of reading, study, writing, and relaxing. I have, within arm's reach,
- a tall glass of water
- the rosary I purchased in Rome
- my cell phone
- the remote controls for both my television and dvd player
- my laptop
- 2 commentaries on John
- 2 commentaries on Luke
- "Wrestling with Angels" by Carolyn Arends
- five pens
- my journal
- my laptop
- my bible
- "Everybody Wants to God to Heaven But Nobody Wants to Die" by David Crowder and Mike Hogan
- "The Gift of Pain" by Philip Yancey and Dr. Paul Brand
- "Studies on the Go: John" by Laurie Polich
The divine hours of lent
I've been reading Phyllis Tickle's Lenten blog, and thought I'd share her post from Thursday... it plays into some things that have been part of ongoing discussions I've been having and things I've been reading and thinking about as this Lenten season has been going on...
You can find the post here.
You can find the post here.
Saturday
I woke up way too early again. From a dream again. (at least it was a better dream this time).
My roommate is out of town until tomorrow afternoon, and I plan to take full advantage of an empty house today.
I need to do some studying. I'm teaching a story in Sunday School tomorrow that fascinates me. I want to draw as much out of it for myself as possible before I teach it tomorrow.
I'm going to cook. Because it's nice to sit down to a real meal, instead of something pre-packaged and easy.
I'm going to write.
I'm having coffee with my mom, and going to the farmer's market.
I'm mailing a card for a friend.
I'm going to consider the merits of a nap.
I'm going to catch up on email.
I'm going to enjoy the quiet.
My roommate is out of town until tomorrow afternoon, and I plan to take full advantage of an empty house today.
I need to do some studying. I'm teaching a story in Sunday School tomorrow that fascinates me. I want to draw as much out of it for myself as possible before I teach it tomorrow.
I'm going to cook. Because it's nice to sit down to a real meal, instead of something pre-packaged and easy.
I'm going to write.
I'm having coffee with my mom, and going to the farmer's market.
I'm mailing a card for a friend.
I'm going to consider the merits of a nap.
I'm going to catch up on email.
I'm going to enjoy the quiet.
Friday, March 07, 2008
International Women's Day Tomorrow
In December 2005 I first posted a piece of poetry that I'd encountered in one of my church history classes titled, "The Woman's Creed." Written by Rachel Conrad Wahlberg in 1978, after a time of reflecting on the Apostle's Creed, I continue to find that it speaks to my heart each time I read it. In honor of tomorrow being "International Women's Day", and because it speaks deeply to a number of topics that have come up in various ongoing conversations I've been having, I thought I'd once again bring this piece forward for your enjoyment. (I've reproduced it, including the asterixed comment, from the original that was given to me in class.)
I believe in God
who created woman and man in God's own image
who created the world
and gave both sexes
the care of the earth.
I believe in Jesus
child of God
chosen of God
born of the woman Mary
who listened to women and liked them
who stayed in their homes
who discussed the Kingdom with them
who was followed and financed
by women disciples.
I believe in Jesus
who discussed theology with a woman at a well
and first confided in her
his messiahship
who motivated her to go and tell
her great news to the city.
I believe in Jesus who received anointing
from a woman at Simon's house
who rebuked the men guests who scorned her
I believe in Jesus who said this woman will be remembered
for what she did -minister to Jesus.
I believe in Jesus
who acted boldly
to reject the blood taboo
of ancient societies
by healing the audacious woman who touched him.
I believe in Jesus who healed a woman
on the sabbath
and made her straight
because she was a human being.
I believe in Jesus
who spoke of God
as a woman seeking the lost coin
as a woman who swept
seeking the lost.
I believe in Jesus
who thought of pregnancy and birth
with reverence
not as punishment - but
as wrenching event
a metaphor for transformation
born again
anguish-into-joy.
I believe in Jesus
who spoke of himself
as a mother hen
who would gather her chicks
under her wings.
I believe in Jesus who appeared
first to Mary Magdalene
who sent her with the bursting message
GO AND TELL...
I believe in the wholeness
of the Savior
in whom there is neither
Jew nor Greek
slave nor free
male nor female
for we are all one
in salvation.
I believe in the Holy Spirit
as she moves over the waters
of creation
and over the earth.
I believe in the Holy Spirit
as she yearns within us
to pray for those things
too deep for words.
I believe in the Holy Spirit
the woman spirit of God*
who like a hen
created us
and gave us birth
and covers us
with her wings.
*the Hebrew word for Spirit is feminine
I believe in God
who created woman and man in God's own image
who created the world
and gave both sexes
the care of the earth.
I believe in Jesus
child of God
chosen of God
born of the woman Mary
who listened to women and liked them
who stayed in their homes
who discussed the Kingdom with them
who was followed and financed
by women disciples.
I believe in Jesus
who discussed theology with a woman at a well
and first confided in her
his messiahship
who motivated her to go and tell
her great news to the city.
I believe in Jesus who received anointing
from a woman at Simon's house
who rebuked the men guests who scorned her
I believe in Jesus who said this woman will be remembered
for what she did -minister to Jesus.
I believe in Jesus
who acted boldly
to reject the blood taboo
of ancient societies
by healing the audacious woman who touched him.
I believe in Jesus who healed a woman
on the sabbath
and made her straight
because she was a human being.
I believe in Jesus
who spoke of God
as a woman seeking the lost coin
as a woman who swept
seeking the lost.
I believe in Jesus
who thought of pregnancy and birth
with reverence
not as punishment - but
as wrenching event
a metaphor for transformation
born again
anguish-into-joy.
I believe in Jesus
who spoke of himself
as a mother hen
who would gather her chicks
under her wings.
I believe in Jesus who appeared
first to Mary Magdalene
who sent her with the bursting message
GO AND TELL...
I believe in the wholeness
of the Savior
in whom there is neither
Jew nor Greek
slave nor free
male nor female
for we are all one
in salvation.
I believe in the Holy Spirit
as she moves over the waters
of creation
and over the earth.
I believe in the Holy Spirit
as she yearns within us
to pray for those things
too deep for words.
I believe in the Holy Spirit
the woman spirit of God*
who like a hen
created us
and gave us birth
and covers us
with her wings.
*the Hebrew word for Spirit is feminine
Being Free to Love - Henri Nouwen
I received this reflection from the Henri Nouwen society about a week ago, and have been mulling it over a bit this week...
Being Free to Love
Jesus came to help us overcome our fear of God. As long as we are afraid of God, we cannot love God. Love means intimacy, closeness, mutual vulnerability, and a deep sense of safety. But all of those are impossible as long as there is fear. Fear creates suspicion, distance, defensiveness and insecurity.
The greatest block in the spiritual life is fear. Prayer, meditation, and education cannot come forth out of fear. God is perfect love, and as John the Evangelist writes, "Perfect love drives out fear" (1 John 4:18). Jesus' central message is that God loves us with an unconditional love and desires our love, free from all fear, in return.
Being Free to Love
Jesus came to help us overcome our fear of God. As long as we are afraid of God, we cannot love God. Love means intimacy, closeness, mutual vulnerability, and a deep sense of safety. But all of those are impossible as long as there is fear. Fear creates suspicion, distance, defensiveness and insecurity.
The greatest block in the spiritual life is fear. Prayer, meditation, and education cannot come forth out of fear. God is perfect love, and as John the Evangelist writes, "Perfect love drives out fear" (1 John 4:18). Jesus' central message is that God loves us with an unconditional love and desires our love, free from all fear, in return.
Thursday, March 06, 2008
Sad
One word. Three letters. The best way I can come up with to describe what I'm feeling tonight.
I sat on the train coming home from time with a friend, quietly listening and praying. Letting things flow over me. Letting them touch my soul.
Sad.
I'm seeing the brokenness tonight. The hurt. The things with no quick and easy solution. And I'm feeling them deep in my soul.
I sat on the train coming home from time with a friend, quietly listening and praying. Letting things flow over me. Letting them touch my soul.
Sad.
I'm seeing the brokenness tonight. The hurt. The things with no quick and easy solution. And I'm feeling them deep in my soul.
Do You Want to Be Healed?
I get a daily email reflection written by an author named John Fischer. Today, he wrote about the man by the pool, the man Jesus asked, "Do you want to be healed?" I liked these lines, that Fischer used to close his reflection.
"Being healed opens up a lot of options. It's not for everyone -- just those who want to get out of their funk and make a difference with their lives. How about it? Do you want to be healed? Turns out, it's not a question with an obvious answer."
"Being healed opens up a lot of options. It's not for everyone -- just those who want to get out of their funk and make a difference with their lives. How about it? Do you want to be healed? Turns out, it's not a question with an obvious answer."
Love and Relationships - Henri Nouwen
More great thoughts from Henri Nouwen...
Reflecting God's perfect love
God's love for us is everlasting. That means that God's love for us existed before we were born and will exist after we have died. It is an eternal love in which we are embraced. Living a spiritual life calls us to claim that eternal love for ourselves so that we can live our temporal loves - for parents, brothers, sisters, teachers, friends, spouses, and all people who become part of our lives - as reflections or refractions of God's eternal love. No fathers or mothers can love their children perfectly. No husbands or wives can love each other with unlimited love. There is no human love that is not broken somewhere.
When our broken love is the only love we can have, we are easily thrown into despair, but when we can live our broken love as a partial reflection of God's perfect, unconditional love, we can forgive one another our limitations and enjoy together the love we have to offer.
Creating a Home Together
Many human relationships are like the interlocking fingers of two hands. Our loneliness makes us cling to each other, and this mutual clinging makes us suffer immensely because it does not take our loneliness away. But the harder we try, the more desperate we become. Many of these "interlocking" relationships fall apart because they become suffocating and oppressive. Human relationships are meant to be like two hands folded together. They can move away from each other while still touching with the fingertips. They can create space between themselves, a little tent, a home, a safe place to be.
True relationships among people point to God. They are like prayers in the world. Sometimes the hands that pray are fully touching, sometimes there is distance between them. They always move to and from each other, but they never lose touch. They keep praying to the One who brought them together.
Reflecting God's perfect love
God's love for us is everlasting. That means that God's love for us existed before we were born and will exist after we have died. It is an eternal love in which we are embraced. Living a spiritual life calls us to claim that eternal love for ourselves so that we can live our temporal loves - for parents, brothers, sisters, teachers, friends, spouses, and all people who become part of our lives - as reflections or refractions of God's eternal love. No fathers or mothers can love their children perfectly. No husbands or wives can love each other with unlimited love. There is no human love that is not broken somewhere.
When our broken love is the only love we can have, we are easily thrown into despair, but when we can live our broken love as a partial reflection of God's perfect, unconditional love, we can forgive one another our limitations and enjoy together the love we have to offer.
Creating a Home Together
Many human relationships are like the interlocking fingers of two hands. Our loneliness makes us cling to each other, and this mutual clinging makes us suffer immensely because it does not take our loneliness away. But the harder we try, the more desperate we become. Many of these "interlocking" relationships fall apart because they become suffocating and oppressive. Human relationships are meant to be like two hands folded together. They can move away from each other while still touching with the fingertips. They can create space between themselves, a little tent, a home, a safe place to be.
True relationships among people point to God. They are like prayers in the world. Sometimes the hands that pray are fully touching, sometimes there is distance between them. They always move to and from each other, but they never lose touch. They keep praying to the One who brought them together.
Wednesday, March 05, 2008
The Miniature Earth
My friend Natalie sent this video to me on facebook today. It touched on rather a lot of themes I've been thinking about lately, and I thought I'd share it with all of you.
Pacing the Cage
Was listening to a Steve Bell cover of this Bruce Cockburn song, and found it rather descriptive of the spot I'm occupying in life just presently...
Sunset is an angel weeping
Holding out a bloody sword
No matter how I squint I cannot
Make out what it's pointing toward
Sometimes you feel like you live too long
Days drip slowly on the page
You catch yourself
Pacing the cage
I've proven who I am so many times
The magnetic strip's worn thin
And each time I was someone else
And every one was taken in
Powers chatter in high places
Stir up eddies in the dust of rage
Set me to pacing the cage
I never knew what you all wanted
So I gave you everything
All that I could pillage
All the spells that I could sing
It's as if the thing were written
In the constitution of the age
Sooner or later you'll wind up
Pacing the cage
Sometimes the best map will not guide you
You can't see what's round the bend
Sometimes the road leads through dark places
Sometimes the darkness is your friend
Today these eyes scan bleached-out land
For the coming of the outbound stage
Pacing the cage
Pacing the cage
Sunset is an angel weeping
Holding out a bloody sword
No matter how I squint I cannot
Make out what it's pointing toward
Sometimes you feel like you live too long
Days drip slowly on the page
You catch yourself
Pacing the cage
I've proven who I am so many times
The magnetic strip's worn thin
And each time I was someone else
And every one was taken in
Powers chatter in high places
Stir up eddies in the dust of rage
Set me to pacing the cage
I never knew what you all wanted
So I gave you everything
All that I could pillage
All the spells that I could sing
It's as if the thing were written
In the constitution of the age
Sooner or later you'll wind up
Pacing the cage
Sometimes the best map will not guide you
You can't see what's round the bend
Sometimes the road leads through dark places
Sometimes the darkness is your friend
Today these eyes scan bleached-out land
For the coming of the outbound stage
Pacing the cage
Pacing the cage
Tuesday, March 04, 2008
I am hungriest for God
“I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry again. Whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.” (John 6:35)
I woke up this morning, crawled out of bed, and realized, with a sinking sort of feeling, that this was the day I’d set aside this week to observe a fast of some sort. I generally work to avoid the idea of fasting, and particularly fasting related to the consumption of food, but during Lent, I try to set aside one day per week where I in some way abstain from food.
This morning, I decided on what I thought would be the easy way out. I would do a fruit and vegetable fast. From the moment I woke up, until the moment I woke up the following day, the only food I would consume would be fruits and vegetables. I could give you all of the justifications for choosing this over a complete abstaining from food (I was exhausted, and would need energy for work etc.), but I’ll be really honest. I wanted to be able to say that I’d practiced the discipline of fasting this week, without really giving up food. I like fruit and vegetables – I eat them in fairly large quantities on a daily basis. It seemed like a healthy idea to eat only fruits and vegetables for a little over 24 hours. What I neglected to take into consideration in my bleary eyed morning decision making process was exactly how much starch and bread based products are also part of my daily diet. How many things I eat for the quick “energy boost” or “sugar fix.”
At about 1:00 this afternoon, as I was sitting at my desk, waiting patiently for our bookkeeper to return from her lunch hour and take over answering the phones, giving me my own lunch hour, it hit me. I didn’t want carrots, or snap peas, or a kiwi fruit or mandarin orange. I didn’t want another glass of water, or a cup of roiboos tea. I wanted bread. Badly. Or maybe a cracker. Something in the starch and grain based food category.
I couldn’t shake the thought. I “needed” bread. Now. There would be no waiting until tomorrow morning. It must be now.
I tried reasoning with my body. “you don’t really ‘need’ bread. You just want it, because you’re used to it. Because you love it, and I indulge you by feeding you the thing that you love on a regular basis. You can live without it for another 18 hours.” Nothing doing. My body would not be satiated with rational arguments.
I tried to distract it by feeding it other things. “Here’s some baby carrots and snap peas, fresh from the farmer’s market. Or maybe a kiwi, would you like a kiwi? An orange? A sip of water, or a cup of tea?” It wouldn’t be distracted.
And somewhere, in the midst of the reasoning, and the attempts at distraction, I became aware of a voice whispering in the background, “I am the bread of life…”
Lauren Winner, author of Girl Meets God and Mudhouse Sabbath, and a convert from Orthodox Judaism to Christianity, describes a conversation she’d once had with her rabbi, arguing that she was more likely to focus on God on a high feast day if her stomach had be satiated. She writes:
Rabbi M. did not roll back thousands of years of rabbinic instruction and tell me to eat a bowl of Chex on the morning of Yom Kippur. Instead, he said the hunger was part of the point. “When you are fasting,” he said, “and you feel hungry, you are to remember that you are really hungry for God.”
And that has become my litany, my chant. When I sit at my desk on a Friday afternoon and wonder whether one little blue corn tortilla chip with a dab of black bean spread would really hurt, I say the words out loud: I am hungriest for God, my truest hunger is for God…
Rabbi M.’s words make clear that, like the liturgy, the fast accomplished a repositioning. When I am sated, it is easy to feel independent. When I am hungry, it is possible to remember where my dependence lies.
And so, I began to pause and listen to that voice. “I am the bread of life.” A friend and I have been having an ongoing discussion this Lenten season about hungering and thirsting for God, for deeper things of God.
I chose a fruit and vegetable fast this morning out of laziness and obligation. A desire to say I’d practiced a discipline, without the sacrifices that should generally accompany the practice of a discipline. I spent my afternoon realizing a deeper hunger. A desire for bread.
The craving for bread remains. I am anticipating with great eagerness the moment tomorrow morning when I will break my fast with a hot crossed bun from an excellent local bakery. But as I passed through the afternoon, and my body continually reminded me that it would really appreciate it if I would stop ignoring it’s request for bread, I was reminded of my own, much deeper hunger for God, for the satisfaction Jesus promised when he said, “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry again. Whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.”
I woke up this morning, crawled out of bed, and realized, with a sinking sort of feeling, that this was the day I’d set aside this week to observe a fast of some sort. I generally work to avoid the idea of fasting, and particularly fasting related to the consumption of food, but during Lent, I try to set aside one day per week where I in some way abstain from food.
This morning, I decided on what I thought would be the easy way out. I would do a fruit and vegetable fast. From the moment I woke up, until the moment I woke up the following day, the only food I would consume would be fruits and vegetables. I could give you all of the justifications for choosing this over a complete abstaining from food (I was exhausted, and would need energy for work etc.), but I’ll be really honest. I wanted to be able to say that I’d practiced the discipline of fasting this week, without really giving up food. I like fruit and vegetables – I eat them in fairly large quantities on a daily basis. It seemed like a healthy idea to eat only fruits and vegetables for a little over 24 hours. What I neglected to take into consideration in my bleary eyed morning decision making process was exactly how much starch and bread based products are also part of my daily diet. How many things I eat for the quick “energy boost” or “sugar fix.”
At about 1:00 this afternoon, as I was sitting at my desk, waiting patiently for our bookkeeper to return from her lunch hour and take over answering the phones, giving me my own lunch hour, it hit me. I didn’t want carrots, or snap peas, or a kiwi fruit or mandarin orange. I didn’t want another glass of water, or a cup of roiboos tea. I wanted bread. Badly. Or maybe a cracker. Something in the starch and grain based food category.
I couldn’t shake the thought. I “needed” bread. Now. There would be no waiting until tomorrow morning. It must be now.
I tried reasoning with my body. “you don’t really ‘need’ bread. You just want it, because you’re used to it. Because you love it, and I indulge you by feeding you the thing that you love on a regular basis. You can live without it for another 18 hours.” Nothing doing. My body would not be satiated with rational arguments.
I tried to distract it by feeding it other things. “Here’s some baby carrots and snap peas, fresh from the farmer’s market. Or maybe a kiwi, would you like a kiwi? An orange? A sip of water, or a cup of tea?” It wouldn’t be distracted.
And somewhere, in the midst of the reasoning, and the attempts at distraction, I became aware of a voice whispering in the background, “I am the bread of life…”
Lauren Winner, author of Girl Meets God and Mudhouse Sabbath, and a convert from Orthodox Judaism to Christianity, describes a conversation she’d once had with her rabbi, arguing that she was more likely to focus on God on a high feast day if her stomach had be satiated. She writes:
Rabbi M. did not roll back thousands of years of rabbinic instruction and tell me to eat a bowl of Chex on the morning of Yom Kippur. Instead, he said the hunger was part of the point. “When you are fasting,” he said, “and you feel hungry, you are to remember that you are really hungry for God.”
And that has become my litany, my chant. When I sit at my desk on a Friday afternoon and wonder whether one little blue corn tortilla chip with a dab of black bean spread would really hurt, I say the words out loud: I am hungriest for God, my truest hunger is for God…
Rabbi M.’s words make clear that, like the liturgy, the fast accomplished a repositioning. When I am sated, it is easy to feel independent. When I am hungry, it is possible to remember where my dependence lies.
And so, I began to pause and listen to that voice. “I am the bread of life.” A friend and I have been having an ongoing discussion this Lenten season about hungering and thirsting for God, for deeper things of God.
I chose a fruit and vegetable fast this morning out of laziness and obligation. A desire to say I’d practiced a discipline, without the sacrifices that should generally accompany the practice of a discipline. I spent my afternoon realizing a deeper hunger. A desire for bread.
The craving for bread remains. I am anticipating with great eagerness the moment tomorrow morning when I will break my fast with a hot crossed bun from an excellent local bakery. But as I passed through the afternoon, and my body continually reminded me that it would really appreciate it if I would stop ignoring it’s request for bread, I was reminded of my own, much deeper hunger for God, for the satisfaction Jesus promised when he said, “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry again. Whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.”
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