I've just started reading a book I suspect I'm going to love. It's titled simply, "Living Prayer," and is written by Robert Benson who wrote "Between the Dreaming and the Coming True" which I just recently finished reading, and absolutely loved.
This new book has a fantastic opening paragraph or so, just the way a book on prayer should start, I think. Or maybe I'm biased, because I too, tumbled unaware into a life that is increasingly shaped by prayer. A life in which the words "intercession" and "intercessor" are ones that I am struggling to become familiar (familial, really) with. A life in which everything seems to have changed.
Benson writes:
I did not mean for all of this to happen to me. Or any of it, for that matter. I am still astonished by it all, and still a little afraid of it, actually.
I only started out to put a little formal devotion into my life, a kind of crash course in organized prayer. At best, I had this vague notion of wanting to be a person whose first words in the morning were a prayer, a prayer that rose up in me as I rose up in bed. I am not even very certain where that notion came from. But since the day it entered my head, nothing in my life is the same. Everything has changed - utterly, completely, irrevocably.
(Living Prayer, pg. 2)
There are dozens of other gems in the first chapter alone, but, as I read those opening lines, I couldn't help but think, "this is how a book on prayer should start." Uncertainty, confusion, reluctance, astonishment, fear, and joy.
Monday, November 03, 2008
One of Those Days
This may be a slightly ranting post, but it's been "one of THOSE days".
George is still being a bit stubborn about getting started, which means every morning around 6:30 I pad out the front door in my pj's and slippers to make sure that this isn't going to be the day that he doesn't start, and I need to run around like a mad person to make it to the bus on time, to get to work on time.
I didn't sleep much last night either, though I was in bed at a decent hour. I woke up something like every 20-30 minutes for most of the night. And in between the waking, I had odd and pensive and somewhat gripping dreams.
Work was well... work. It was a Monday, and everyone is back in the office after a week of being on the road. Tensions are high because one department in particular has a number of major deadlines in the next two weeks, and they're desperately behind on every one of them. I spent a large chunk of my afternoon reading emails from one particularly trying manager. Emails that essentially regurgitated information that I'd given to him, only using longer words and less clear language than I'd used, and taking credit for telling me what I'd told him. (The words, justifiable homicide, plausible deniability, temporary insanity, and Napoleon Complex were floating around our office again.)
Traffic was worse than usual coming home.
And then, then I settled in to cook jambalaya, using my mom's recipe. I've been craving it for weeks, and was really looking forward to it. It's still cooking as we speak. Unfortunately, I also managed to slice my left forefinger quite nicely while chopping up sausage for the jambalaya. So, the jambalaya was temporarily delayed while I cleaned and bandaged my finger. (And typing is a little bit interesting with a bandaged forefinger.) Amusingly enough, my roommate was helping me chop some of the veggies, and she too, sliced her finger tonight.
It's been that kind of day.
So, the plan for the evening is quiet. Curling up with a book, maybe in the bath. Possibly doing a little writing or chatting on the phone with a friend. And hopefully no more crankyness inducing, blood-drawing events!
George is still being a bit stubborn about getting started, which means every morning around 6:30 I pad out the front door in my pj's and slippers to make sure that this isn't going to be the day that he doesn't start, and I need to run around like a mad person to make it to the bus on time, to get to work on time.
I didn't sleep much last night either, though I was in bed at a decent hour. I woke up something like every 20-30 minutes for most of the night. And in between the waking, I had odd and pensive and somewhat gripping dreams.
Work was well... work. It was a Monday, and everyone is back in the office after a week of being on the road. Tensions are high because one department in particular has a number of major deadlines in the next two weeks, and they're desperately behind on every one of them. I spent a large chunk of my afternoon reading emails from one particularly trying manager. Emails that essentially regurgitated information that I'd given to him, only using longer words and less clear language than I'd used, and taking credit for telling me what I'd told him. (The words, justifiable homicide, plausible deniability, temporary insanity, and Napoleon Complex were floating around our office again.)
Traffic was worse than usual coming home.
And then, then I settled in to cook jambalaya, using my mom's recipe. I've been craving it for weeks, and was really looking forward to it. It's still cooking as we speak. Unfortunately, I also managed to slice my left forefinger quite nicely while chopping up sausage for the jambalaya. So, the jambalaya was temporarily delayed while I cleaned and bandaged my finger. (And typing is a little bit interesting with a bandaged forefinger.) Amusingly enough, my roommate was helping me chop some of the veggies, and she too, sliced her finger tonight.
It's been that kind of day.
So, the plan for the evening is quiet. Curling up with a book, maybe in the bath. Possibly doing a little writing or chatting on the phone with a friend. And hopefully no more crankyness inducing, blood-drawing events!
More from Henri on Church and Poverty
More challenging thoughts from Henri Nouwen...
Going to the Margins of the Church
Those who are marginal in the world are central in the Church, and that is how it is supposed to be! Thus we are called as members of the Church to keep going to the margins of our society. The homeless, the starving, parentless children, people with AIDS, our emotionally disturbed brothers and sisters - they require our first attention.
We can trust that when we reach out with all our energy to the margins of our society we will discover that petty disagreements, fruitless debates, and paralysing rivalries will recede and gradually vanish. The Church will always be renewed when our attention shifts from ourselves to those who need our care. The blessing of Jesus always comes to us through the poor. The most remarkable experience of those who work with the poor is that, in the end, the poor give more than they receive. They give food to us.
Who Are the Poor?
The poor are the center of the Church. But who are the poor? At first we might think of people who are not like us: people who live in slums, people who go to soup kitchens, people who sleep on the streets, people in prisons, mental hospitals, and nursing homes. But the poor can be very close. They can be in our own families, churches or workplaces. Even closer, the poor can be ourselves, who feel unloved, rejected, ignored, or abused.
It is precisely when we see and experience poverty - whether far away, close by, or in our own hearts - that we need to become the Church; that is hold hands as brothers and sisters, confess our own brokenness and need, forgive one another, heal one another's wounds, and gather around the table of Jesus for the breaking of the bread. Thus, as the poor we recognise Jesus, who became poor for us.
Becoming the Church of the Poor
When we claim our own poverty and connect our poverty with the poverty of our brothers and sisters, we become the Church of the poor, which is the Church of Jesus. Solidarity is essential for the Church of the poor . Both pain and joy must be shared. As one body we will experience deeply one another's agonies as well as one another's ecstasies. As Paul says: "If one part is hurt, all the parts share its pain. And if one part is honored, all the parts share its joy" (1 Corinthians 12:26).
Often we might prefer not to be part of the body because it makes us feel the pain of others so intensely. Every time we love others deeply we feel their pain deeply. However, joy is hidden in the pain. When we share the pain we also will share the joy.
Going to the Margins of the Church
Those who are marginal in the world are central in the Church, and that is how it is supposed to be! Thus we are called as members of the Church to keep going to the margins of our society. The homeless, the starving, parentless children, people with AIDS, our emotionally disturbed brothers and sisters - they require our first attention.
We can trust that when we reach out with all our energy to the margins of our society we will discover that petty disagreements, fruitless debates, and paralysing rivalries will recede and gradually vanish. The Church will always be renewed when our attention shifts from ourselves to those who need our care. The blessing of Jesus always comes to us through the poor. The most remarkable experience of those who work with the poor is that, in the end, the poor give more than they receive. They give food to us.
Who Are the Poor?
The poor are the center of the Church. But who are the poor? At first we might think of people who are not like us: people who live in slums, people who go to soup kitchens, people who sleep on the streets, people in prisons, mental hospitals, and nursing homes. But the poor can be very close. They can be in our own families, churches or workplaces. Even closer, the poor can be ourselves, who feel unloved, rejected, ignored, or abused.
It is precisely when we see and experience poverty - whether far away, close by, or in our own hearts - that we need to become the Church; that is hold hands as brothers and sisters, confess our own brokenness and need, forgive one another, heal one another's wounds, and gather around the table of Jesus for the breaking of the bread. Thus, as the poor we recognise Jesus, who became poor for us.
Becoming the Church of the Poor
When we claim our own poverty and connect our poverty with the poverty of our brothers and sisters, we become the Church of the poor, which is the Church of Jesus. Solidarity is essential for the Church of the poor . Both pain and joy must be shared. As one body we will experience deeply one another's agonies as well as one another's ecstasies. As Paul says: "If one part is hurt, all the parts share its pain. And if one part is honored, all the parts share its joy" (1 Corinthians 12:26).
Often we might prefer not to be part of the body because it makes us feel the pain of others so intensely. Every time we love others deeply we feel their pain deeply. However, joy is hidden in the pain. When we share the pain we also will share the joy.
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