Author Archives: Elizabeth Nordquist

A Voice

23 Wednesday Sep 2015

Posted by in Uncategorized

≈ 1 Comment

MiriamChicagoSo many voices fill the sound waves, and all seem to be clamoring to be heard. But I am listening for the voice that is meant for me, that will give me nourishment and direction, the voice that is directed to me…meant for my ears. When I set out to Listen Carefully last week, I had no trouble hearing sounds, noises, bird calls, traffic, airplanes… but I found that in my intention to Listen, I wanted to hear what the Word is for me today. Too often the proliferation of noise around me devolves into an unclear murmuration of indistinguishable sounds, like the teacher, Miss Othmar, in the Charlie Brown cartoons. So my prayer became the boy Samuel’s: “Speak, O Holy One, I am listening. (And make it clear!)”

What I discovered as I paid attention was that when there was a particular Word for me, I had an almost whole body response when I heard it– a heart-knowing, a breath intake, a click—something that shimmered or caught my attention. It came in several modalities over the days I was intentionally Listening. There was a letter from a pastor to the Pope in anticipation of his American visit that brought me joy and challenge. An address from a theologian of great wisdom and passion for justice for women gave me hope and encouragement. I wandered thought the family room where I heard the strains of Allison Krause singing with Yo-Yo Ma, “‘Tis gift to be simple, ’tis a gift to be free, ’tis a gift to come down where you ought to be…” And then as a surprise from far away, a Youtube clip of someone I had known in a former life, whose road diverged from mine over thirty years ago, was  offering peace, joy and welcome to those who longed to know the Holy more nearly and dearly in a winsome and winning way; I was surprised and blessed.

Each time a “voice” addressed to me distinguished itself from the pack, I had resonance in my entire being, that this was a Word for me that brought Life, than affirmed Love and that challenged my intention to be more of what I am created to be. So when I read from the book of Romans later in the week that “The Word is very near you, on your lips and in your heart,” I knew that what i had heard in my Listening was striking a chord with what the Spirit has already put in my being, and that my listening needed to be inward as well as attuned to the Word that come from outside. What I am invited to do is to pay attention with an open heart.

The practice to which I need to be faithful is whatever makes it possible and probable that I will hear the Word I need to hear, over and over again. Rumi says: A voice comes to your soul saying, Lift your foot, cross over, move into the emptiness of question, answer and question. And so the journey of Spirit goes with my whole Self at attention for the Word for this day, the next and next.

Personal photo taken of Judy Chicago’s “Song of Miriam” in Santa Fe, New Mexico.

Heaviness

15 Tuesday Sep 2015

Posted by in Uncategorized

≈ 2 Comments

Levitaiton (Rock)Heaviness looms around this time and space:

  • the weather is unremittingly humid and hot
  • the pictures of refugees from Europe and its neighbors is tragic
  • the forests of California are ablaze with wild racing fires
  • the contours of the lives of so many beloved ones are  locked in and hopeless
  • more news this morning of a sudden death of a youngish husband of a colleague
  • a childhood friend is suffering
  • someone’s partner suddenly stumbles into an utterly surprising critical diagnosis
  • a companion on the Camino went missing, and her body is found murdered in a local village

And so it goes. And I scour my heart and resources to know how to pray, what to do, how to live under the weight of all of the earth’s heaviness. I went to my oldest concordance to see if there were any words from sacred text about heaviness; in older translations there are many, but newer versions have chosen other words for heaviness:

sorrow, grief, despair, anxiety, lamentation, mourning, anguish, distress, dejection

Yes, those will do…they begin to spell out the apt particulars of some of this heaviness–the sadness, the fear, the anger, the hopelessness. Yet, all of these expressions are offered out into the safe container of the Mystery we call God, Whom the crier doesn’t see or hear at the moment, but is sure can receive these feelings without personal diminishment or judgement. So I take both shelter and energy in the words of Jesus:

Come to me, all you that are weary and heavy laden; and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me…(Mt. 11:28)

I pray from the Book of Common Worship: Lift heavy sorrow and give us good hope in Jesus…

And the learning and lifting comes slowly, slowly, slowly, point of Light after point of Light…an opportunity to contribute to relief for those who suffer, both here and across the sea; an insight for a gift that can be offered as respite care; a connection that I can make from a resource I know to someone who can use it; words of comforting presence and solidarity that can be uttered; a surprise of joy that suddenly appears, like the butterfly at my window. And with each step or movement I can feel the heaviness become more navigable, even bearable, with some openings for hope, even as I continue to lament and ask for justice.

I ask for eyes to see, ears to hear, heart to sense the openings, sinews to hold me in a stance of hopefulness against all odds, courage to keep facing and observing the brokenness and willfulness that piles on God’s people and the earth that leads to such heaviness.

And it is the writers of the sacred text that give me direction me out of their own experience:

Why are you cast down, O my soul, and why are you disquieted within me? Hope in God; for I shall yet praise him, my help and my God. (Ps.42:5)

And so I am practicing hope: hope for the displaced ones, hope for the suffering ones, hope for the grieving ones.In hope once again turn to my go-to prayer from Augustine:

Watch, O Lord, with those who wake, or watch, or weep tonight, and give Your angels and saints charge over those who sleep. Tend Your sick ones, Lord Christ. Rest Your weary ones. Bless Your dying ones. Soothe Your suffering ones. Shield Your joyous ones, and all for Your love’s sake. Amen.

And I pray for the heaviness to lift! May it be so!

Beginning Again

08 Tuesday Sep 2015

Posted by in Uncategorized

≈ 2 Comments

AgnesMartinMy daily rhythms are no longer calibrated to the academic year, but my body, mind and spirit still greet September with a sense of welcome–a new season is beginning with new opportunities, new chances, even new people.

I am creating a new address book, which for the moment has no crossed out addresses and phone numbers. I have perused my refrigerator door, deciding which postcards, magnets and pictures can be retired in light of the present moment. I have  new calendars, ones that represent this fall season and ones I anticipate putting in use when January comes.

I have found myself rearranging the tray on the table where I pray with new symbols representing the focus of my heart. Some parts of my spiritual practice remain energizing and provocative–my prayers with a calendar of art that changes weekly, my happiness diary given to me by my daughter. But some of the other routines, books and rituals are a little dusty, so I am examining what needs to stay and what can give way to something different–maybe even already used–that can bring me into a deeper awareness of Holy Presence.

I know that I need to continue to dwell in sacred text. But I am persuaded that whatever finds me to read needs a slowing down, a pondering, more reflection. Maybe I can return to my much beloved lectio divina practice, even as I do it alone. Maybe fewer amounts, but deeper contemplation is what I am being called to this new year of learning

On the other hand, my list of people and worlds events that need Divine Attention gets wider and longer. I have become so impressed with the up-closeness we have to all other humans and the groaning of all of creation. The needs of the particular and the general spill out into my awareness in a flood of anguish and despair; there are days in which I feel as if it is so much that I need to throw in my prayer towel. Yet, I believe that I need to be constant in two kinds of prayer–that which faces inward, opening myself to the Beloved, saying “Here I am, Loving God;” and that which participates in healing the broken threads of the world in lifting it to the Light. Again, I may need to slow down, be willing to take the time that is worthy of this holy ministry, maybe in this part of my life, the most important thing that I do. I need guidance in showing me how to lengthen my attention span and deepen my compassion.

And once again, I wake up to the fact that my body need to be part of my spiritual practice–my labyrinth, my neighborhood, my stretching, my piano playing, my healthy eating, my reaching out to those around me–beloved, friendly, or folks unknown. I am learning how to understand that all of my life is a spiritual practice, if and when I can pay attention to the Light within it. Some things I will continue to do as I have done, yet I want to expand my soul, become more elastic and welcoming. Work still to do!

The picture of the painting by Agnes Martin above resides in a museum in Taos, and is  called “Friendship.” But this week it is reminding me of the blank notebooks with which the school season begins, blank spaces to fill with inspiration and learnings yet awaiting me as I open myself to this new year of learning with the Spirit. Maybe this year I can choose again with Rilke to “Resolve to be always beginning–to always be a beginner.” From that posture I can once again learn that God is making all things new, Holy Mercies are new every morning, and this new year is a gift of living into a new thing that the Spirit is doing in me.

All Things Bright and Beautiful

30 Sunday Aug 2015

Posted by in creation, earth, teaching

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

, ,

ColoradoAspens2014I am learning slowly slowly, slowly, to let the created world teach me about its revelation of the Holy. Somehow my early experiences and teaching left me without the sensibilities that could easily sense God in Creation. I certainly appreciated glorious sunrises and sunsets, loved any place I could get close to the ocean, and delighted in the parade of dogs that marched through our growing family. However, I don’t seem to have the natural affinity for Nature that comes to others easily that is a part of our faith journey–the understanding of the Holy in the natural world, which Calvin calls the second book of revelation, after the written sacred texts.

Two events have coincided this past year to pique my attention and to ground my intention to seek the Holy in becoming a deeper lover of the beauty of this Earth God made, and to be a more faithful steward of its resources. First, partly in response to California’s desperate drought, we have replaced our front lawn with a drought resistant garden last summer. I am sure we had no idea of the complexities of what we were doing, but with the help of a landscape designer and our long time gardener, my husband brought together an array of native plants and flowers that have become a garden of earth grown delights.Iriswelcom6715 Each morning as I go out the door, I am reminded that God’s mercies are new every morning. And I am often surprised: irises bloom, bees hum, the lavender bush is full of tiny birds–wrens maybe?

All things bright and beautiful, all creatures great and small/all things wise and wonderful, the Lord God made them all.                    Hymn words: Cecil Frances Alexander, 1848

The other stream of opening awareness has come from the urgent writings about the care for the Earth by theologians, as well as by scientists, sociologists and other people of faith who are stepping up their banner call to care of the earth as part of the spiritual journey. My own consciousness was raised initially by my former colleague, Dr. Sam Hamilton-Poore, in his lyric book, Earth Gospel, in which he creates a four week set of daily liturgies and reflections, garnered from ancient and modern sources, all focused on caring for Creation in the way humans are intended to do. I found that singing and praying with eyes and ears open to goodness of God expressed in Creation began in me a more organic reflection of my own connection to all of the earth. Sam’s blessing for a Saturday morning has given shape to my own reality: May I see the glory of God in sun and sky; may I hear the Creator’s song in bird and breeze; and may the grace of Christ’s Spirit course though me, body and soul. (Hamilton-Poore, 33)

With my soul primed to learn and practice more stewarding of the earth, I have read the compelling books of Beldon Lane, retired professor and Presbyterian minister, in which he lays out both the this theology and his practice of experiencing the Presence of the Holy in nature. In reading a compilation of the essays of Catholic theologian Elizabeth Johnson, I was further enlightened and inspired by her clarity on her premise that a person of faith mus embrace caring for Creation, particularly in its present crisis. Then, a colleague referred me to Pope Francis’ new encyclical, Laudate Si’, as a gripping and important perspective of the Church in the 21st Century in relationship to the Earth, a document I am eager to read. My intellectual awareness has become replete with ideas and premises that are beginning to re-shape the lens with which I view the natural world.

So as I went away with my family to a campground last weekend, I chose as my spiritual practice to attend as closely as I was able to what was there in the natural world, to watch it closely, and to trust that the Holy One could speak to me through what I was experiencing. In a canyon that led to the beach in the California sunshine, I saw all kinds of birds–bullying scrub jays, swooping ravens, supersonic hummingbirds; and as evening fell, the was a huge bevy of quail walking across the road, then ascending to the sky as a noise disturbed them. I sat in stillness under a bright half moon, and listened to the quiet. And I also noticed the bright red poison oak, and heard about the distressed sycamore trees, suffering from lack of water. One writer from my reading had posited that each particular created thing brings glory to God by being exactly what it is, nothing more, nothing less. And that was the Word for me, among the  variegated array of God’s ingenuity–I am to be myself–nothing more, nothing less– and by so doing, I am bringing glory to God. I can rest, beloved and grateful, in the Presence of the One who made us all bright and beautiful!

The Examen-ed Life

19 Wednesday Aug 2015

Posted by in daily examen, Discernment, reflection

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

, ,

CoritawomanWhen I get stuck in amber, cannot seem to move ahead or back (often in the summer heat), I revert to well-tried practices of Spirit that have energized me in the past. So this summer I have reclaimed the Ignatian practice of the daily examen. I first learned this practice in a winsome and accessible book by the Linns called Sleeping with Bread. They describe simply the daily practice of reviewing one’s day with a set of questions: “Where did I experience Grace today?” and “where did I feel farthest from Grace today?”  Alternately, one could ask :where did I feel the most freedom?” and “where did I feel most restricted?” The answers to these prayerful questions then may lead to prayer, first those of gratitude, and then to prayers for forgiveness, for wisdom, for healing. I love this concrete, do-able exercise, for it helps me pay attention to my life in God, and helps direct my prayer to specific area of longing and need.

During these months I discovered…or was led to…a new book called Reimagining the Ignatian Examen by Mark E. Thibodeaux, SJ, (Loyola Press, 2015) in which he deepens the basic premises of the examen, then focus them in thirty-four specific area of questioning designed to take one into the heart of each question. In using the book, I was instructed to begin in gratitude for particular gifts of the previous day. (I need to use this prayer in the morning; i am too sleepy at night!). Then, I was directed to review my day in light of the day’s focus, such as habits or thoughts, words, deeds, or discernment. Taking not more than 15 minutes, likening my responses to “tweet-size journaling,”  I was able to recall, savor and then to examine in a more precise way i which I had encountered the Holy One and where I needed to ask for something–forgiveness, assurance, wisdom, all with a more pointed  direction.

I became aware that all too often my prayer has been generic…”God, bless us all” kinds of prayers, but that I longed to be more concrete, more specific in my relationship with Christ and more conscious of that holy encounter when I was aware of the Presence, the Breath, the Fire, the Grace. So I was delighted to be prodded to something more. Over the course of the summer days, especially the dog-days in which we are now living, the keenness of each day’s particular questions often became a sign post pointing me in the direction of other connected, synergistic signs by which I could notice God’s presence, and hear God’s word. On a day when the examen directed me to think about the question, “what do you seek?”, I was then asked to preach on a text from Mark’s gospel in which the question was, “what do you want me to do for you?” In response in my own musings and in preparation for bringing the Word, I needed to dig in my soul for answers to those connected questions. After a day of asking the question, “Who wore God’s face today?,” I saw at an exhibit of the art of Corita Kent an early painting of hers, in which a woman is holding up both hands in prayer, as if she is offering up both her gloriousness as a creature of God and her frailty as a human being. A powerful selection on Choosing Life led me into walking through many days mindful of whether this action in which I was engaged was one in which I was choosing life or choosing death by not inhabiting my life.

And so energy has begun to flow, attention is being paid, love is blooming. The amber is set aside for the another time, and the the “sacrament of the present moment” is being honored. Ahead of me lies a connection with a friend, a performance of a young person, a reading with my beloved, a larky trip with children and grandchildren–all moments full of movement, possibility, hope and prayer. The examen-ed life is well worth living!

Personal photo of painting by Corita Kent at Pasadena Museum of California Art.

Icons of Peace

11 Tuesday Aug 2015

Posted by in icons, paying attention, peace

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

, , ,

VisitationSometimes there are no words…no words of inspiration, no words of provocation, no words of illumination. But there are icons, images, visual impressions all round in the world. When I have wearied of words, on which I am inordinately dependent, and they fail me, I open my eyes to the Light carried in images and in people.

This summer I seem to have had enough words–political words, ecclesiastical words, even words that are too clever by half. I am even tired of my own words, or attempts at them. But I long to sense the Light of Grace, and I remember how often Grace is articulated in exemplars in my life, people and things in whose presence I can recognize and rest peacefully in Grace and Truth.

There was a grandmother, small and unprepossessing, from the South, whose gentle manner and powerful faith commanded confidence and trust from any who sat with her near her corner chair. There is a spiritual director who appears to be made of fairy dust, living in a well-used library of text and symbol, with a black cat and a welcoming smile. There is an author of books who moves with quiet and ease, and when he speaks with confidence, a hush falls on the room. There is an anthem by a composer who recently left this world; each chord of this song sung by a choir intimates holy presence. There is a shoreline, away from a larger body of water, where the small wavelets lap in peace along the sand and rocks.

Each of these icons brings me into peace, and reminds me that there is peace to be had. Wendell Berry has reminded me of “the peace of wild things, who bear no forethought of grief,”  and when all the words bring no peace, I look to these images–people, places and things–who assure me that peace is still waiting to surround me.

In an exhibit of illustrated manuscripts at the Getty Museum this week, I found yet another icon in the central offering, from a 15th Century French prayerbook, the centerpiece of the exhibit, an illustration of the greeting of Elizabeth to her cousin Mary in the gospel of Luke. I spent 17 months marinating in this story when I first retired, and I came to know Elizabeth as that icon of peace for a young woman whose world was turned upside down by the appearance of an angel. All the gentle manifestations of hospitality are evident in her–her joy, her faith, her warmth, her hope, and that safe place in which Mary could begin the spiritual practice of pondering–paying attention to what was happening in her body, her mind and spirit–in safety and in rest.

In a restless and chaotic world, in the absence of reassuring rhetoric and thoughtfulness of loud pronouncements, in the numbing reiteration of talking points and faux narratives, I look for those people and things that embody peace. Not the least of these invitations is to looki again at Jesus…a peaceful presence always. Lady Julian tells us that, “He is our peace, when we ourselves are in un-peace.” My eyes and heart can rest with him.

Freed to be Free

04 Tuesday Aug 2015

Posted by in Discernment, freedom, Spirit

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

, ,

Freedomstatue I recently found the first sermon I ever preached to a congregation, over 30 years ago. It was called “Freed to be Free,” based on Galatians 5, and I preached it on a summer Sunday when all the regular church staff was away. I was in seminary, had had no preaching classes, just trying to imitate what I had always heard from the pulpit. I am not sure why I was preaching on that text, because I didn’t know much about the lectionary at that stage of my learning. But as I re-read it, I could see clearly that the call to freedom in my spiritual journey was compelling and urgent for me. And the call to a journey of freedom in the Spirit still compels and invites me.

I began to wonder how I have lived into the FREEDOM that is called me so deeply when I first preached on it. I see how careful I was, coming from whence I came, being sure not to allow for uncontrolled license, or to confuse FREEDOM with “doing what comes naturally.” I felt is necessary to speak a cautionary word about anger and self-centeredness, but I was not able to anticipate the ways in which I would become free on my journey of Spirit.

This past month, I have found myself unable to write anything. And maybe that was the FREEDOM I needed–no self-imposed deadlines, no internal pressure to find meaning or something meaningful, no meeting my own carefully crafted intentions. Maybe I needed to listen to the Word that came to me when I was on retreat, which was to “Just stop!” I am at a delicious location in life, where in most ways, I can do just that–stop, let it all go for awhile. And so I have. This July I have completed no projects, no ambitions, not even many lists of to-dos.

But I have been and still am  continually musing on how, when and where I am living in the freedom for which Christ made me free:

  • I am free to remember and marinate in, maybe even to trust, that there is nothing that can separate me from the Love of God.
  • I am free to love and appreciate my person that God created–body, mind and spirit.
  • I am free without fear to allow the Spirit to gentle and guide me through whatever means She chooses: sources from my own tradition, those of other traditions, using words or no words.
  • I am free to love those that are brought to me whether or not we seem to have things in common or whether we agree on anything.
  • I am free to let go of judgement of another person’s motives and behaviors, while holding one to my own beliefs and convictions.
  • I am free to speak and act for justice and mercy for those who have no voice or agency or protection.
  • I am free to bring my gifts and talents to the communities in which I dwell, and free to say “no” when the call does not have my name on it.
  • I am free to trust my own discernment about where and when the Spirit is inviting me to show up; to quote a beloved teacher, “The need does not constitute the call.”
  • I am free to enter into the deep waters of forgiveness–offering it, asking for it, receiving it–and then “letting it go.” This is applies even when musing on my own failures and shortcomings.
  • I am free to give thanks for the abundances of my life–people who have loved and are still loving me, places I have dwelt where I experienced Holy Presence, moments of “kairos” time, where I with others recognized that surely God was in that place.
  • I am free to continue to be a growing up, all the days I am given to live, not ever needing to call a halt to the practices of Spirit that deepen my understanding of the Holy and how I am called to live and move in the moment.

My understanding of God’s freedom for and in me keeps growing…I keep being set free; I am banking of the words of Jesus from the book of John: If the Son makes you free, you will be free indeed. May it be so!

Becalmed: Longing for Wind

29 Monday Jun 2015

Posted by in paying attention, Spirit, waiting

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, ,

I ventured out to my annual personal retreat last week, hoping to meet Simages-2pirit in all her personae of dove, fire and wind to ignite in me the energy I need both for myself and for those to whom I am called. I arrived at my familiar place (although there were plenty of personnel changes), settled in to a known room (although my favorite was already occupied), entered into well-tried practices to arriving, attending and resting. I walked, I read, I prayed, I listened, and in the first hours I felt the filling begin–no one else to react to, nothing on my to do list, no place to drive, no food to prepare. My brain and heart began to take notes, glad for the spacious interstices between impressions and insights. And then the energy stopped!

I am not sure what had happened. There was evening conversation around the table. There was problematic material in the book I am considering. There was a writing style that unnerved rather than reassured. There was lots of maintenance and construction noise in the surrounding neighborhood. However, as I checked in with my own heart, I noticed that I was becalmed, nothing was flowing and moving ahead. What had begun in energy now lay flat and still. I came to an awareness that even thought I had consciously intended to “come apart and rest for awhile,” another part of me was highly invested in achieving something on this retreat–setting an agenda, working a problem, moving on up a little higher with God.

But I was out of ideas and energy. So I put a stop to my Achiever in order to wait…and I discovered that the Spirit was still moving–in my breath. Breathe on me, Holy Spirit; breathe in me, Breath of God. Evening was falling, light fading, sounds diminishing. And I breathed–breathing out the clutter, breathing in Spirit. Over the next hours I kept reminding my self of the Breath, keeping me alive, even when I was not “accomplishing” anything. Jesus’ words, Come apart and rest awhile, reminded me that one thing was necessary for me, as it was for Mary–to listen to and for the Wind of the Spirit, even when it came in ways that were not Bright Red, or Aero-dynamic or High-Flying. The Sound of Sheer Silence was enough for now.

Over the remaining hours I had set aside, I rested, tuned into the moment in my body and in my mind, trusting that what I needed would be provided when I needed it. Into the rest I continue to take in and expel the Breath of the Spirit, to follow its lead, to let it propel me where it willed. I discovered a forgotten resource for my planning in the trunk of my car. I discarded one vista for another that took me into a peace garden full of Sadako’s cranes surrounding an infinity pool. I prayed for rain in our parched climate where the creek is no longer flowing. I sifted through images that spoke to me of gardens, of grief, of letting go, of loving. I savored poems of beloved poets who continue to feed and nourish my spirit. I drank peppermint iced tea, awaiting me in the pantry. I engaged in appropriate conversation with other retreatants when the time was right. And out of that rest I was led to some sacred texts in books that i had already discarded that had a Word for me in that moment.

When it was time to leave, I was ready. But I had no outline, no calendar, no assignments for people; nor did I have insightful imagining into my own questions and musings. Yet, I had experienced the rest that comes from standing down from even my unconscious lists of “to-dos” and trusting in the freedom that the Breath of the God brings, even, maybe especially when we are out of the energy we generate out of ourselves. I met and was met by the Spirit of Christ, and She set me free.

…where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom!           2 Cor. 3:17

Down to Earth

19 Friday Jun 2015

Posted by in action, body, earth, presence, wisdom

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , ,

FirstMushroom15LastIrises15All of my life of the Spirit takes place in my body planted in the physical world where I am rooted. As much as I would love to waft far and away above earth’s lamentations, I find myself often, much like Winnie-the-Pooh floating with his balloon, being thumped along the cold and bumpy ground, because I am a human being in a created body that is made of dust, and to dust I will return.

My intention to be peace is interrupted by an urgent phone call from a neighbor needing assistance. My vision of resting in the Spirit gets cluttered with the trash that the dog has strewn all over the back yard. My song of praise is cut short by the sounds of sandblasting next door. My prayers intended to be incense rising are more often overridden by the stench of garbage spilled on the sidewalk. My words that I crafted to be like apples of gold is a setting of silver are drowned out by the yammering rhetoric of both public and private pundits of politics. How do I keep my attention on the Holy when there is so much that might distract and divert it?

My new drought-resistant garden has been a teacher to me about my earthliness this season. Its variety and its beauty are continual surprises each morning, but not all the surprises are welcome ones. Suddenly one morning, a year after the lawn has been taken out, all the earth in the front yard has been replaced, completely new plantings have taken root, I find a wild invasive mushroom blooming. It is not edible, nor is it useful; it was not what I wanted, but there it is. It needs to be removed. Attention must be paid! The garden is not Eden, it is made from dust, as I am, and not everything that grows there is beautiful or necessary. I turn aside to take care of it before I continue to glory in the beauty of the irises that proliferate.

Maybe this is the next teaching: the same earth that spawned the mushroom also provided the nourishment for the fabulous flowers! The spiritual lesson is to be awake, attentive, and discerning. What is mine to notice? what is mine to act on? what is mine to savor and thank God for? what is mine to prune, to tend and to water? I find I need to be more mindful; I cannot just send up a prayer and hope it all turns out right. My spirit need to act in concert with my hopes and dreams.

In these freshly troubled days of reflection after the murders at Mother Emmanuel Church in Charleston, SC, I am asking myself what and how do I need to act in order to contribute to a cessation of violence and hatred in this country. Every sound bite I hear, every op-ed piece I read, every pastoral letter I receive offers a different piece of advice. The fabric of this world, this nation, our people is so tattered and torn. I am brokenhearted and baffled. So I am back to the discerning prayer until Wisdom comes.

I also am reminded too that I am earthen–we have this treasure in clay jars (2 Cor.4:7)–and I am limited, fragile and imperfect. So The Solution to the Evils in the World does not rest on me alone. The discerned actions that I will be led to take will be ones that participate in the clarification that it is God who is able to do more than I can believe or imagine to redeem this crisis, both the immediate one in South Carolina and the deeper, more tragic sin and brokenness that springs out of this evil in the world. So we do not lose heart.

As I wend my way though the dusty paths I am called to wander today, I pray for compassion, for wisdom, for courage, trusting the Word of the Holy, that what is required is that I be faithful to the call of Christ to be just and to be merciful, and to be creative, discerning and energetic in living out my earthbound journey of Spirit.

Longing for Water

04 Thursday Jun 2015

Posted by in refreshment, renewal, Spirit

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

, ,

images-2My senses are alert to water! It is summer, the season where I always imagine that refreshment is coming. Ocean, lakes, rivers beckon me to immersion, nourishment and respite.

Yet, my soul is aware of its own dryness.  Maybe it is mirroring the California environment, drought plagued, with wistful longings for El Nino and desalinization projects. Or it may be reflecting the Church in its seemingly endless fights and posturing for power. And what could be more arid than the hue and cry about the premature race for the presidential election next year, in which we cannot trust a word or a character than comes splashing out of the next news cycle? I long for clear fresh water that cleanses, satisfies, and hydrates my spirit.

I have been calling on spiritual images from sacred text and song to give me hope and to dwell in the part of the Mystery that slakes my thirst. I remember my friend at the well in John 4, whose dessicated habits separated her from neighbor and from herself. Yet she got herself to that watering place that noon, and met One who embedded in her “a spring of water gushing up to eternal life” (John 4: 14). In that spring which he gave her, she met the Holy and she met herself.

So I am trying to notice where the Living Water is located for me in this summer season.

I am finding it in a usual watering hole of reading, primarily sacred reading. Right now I am reading slowly in four different strands of faith: a book of theology on perichoresis by long-time friend of my youth, Dr. Charles Twombly–which prods the ancient boulders of my seminary study into letting trickles of awareness through; a book on Church History about the Beguines, a lay movement of women in Europe in the 13th and 14th centuries, whose story enriches the encouragement I see in 21st Century women all around the world; a book on gratitude by a Mennonite woman in the South with six children who is seeking to live more thankfully; and, possibly most close to my own drying up in aging, a book of reflections by Marilyn Chandler McIntyre, written as if she were a person of faith who had been given a brief amount of time to live. Each of these streams bathes my spirit, delights or challenges, and refreshes my fevered brow.

I find living water from writers and speakers who speak good news to the broken places, to the misinformation that teems around the communication channels. Just this morning I read a cleansing word from someone who had been mightily betrayed by his colleagues who spoke with clarity and graciousness and peace, and another who brought a perspective of gospel to a new flash that the clamoring twitters had missed altogether. Healing streams indeed!

I am also allowing non-verbal springs to replenish my dryness. The iris, the butterflies and the humming birds are like little rivulets of God’s grace through my window. The harmonies of contemporary composers like Stephen Paulus, Arvo Part and Eric Whitacre ripple with waves of hope and faith that fill the parched places in my soul. Paintings–old and new–spark both my remembrance of the faithfulness of the Holy One, while at the same time they cast a vision of what could be, of what is promised.

And I am finding that the my own practice of offering Presence in the lives of those who are suffering keeps my own heart juices flowing. E-mails, snail-mail cards, phone calls, monetary contributions which I send, all remind me that there is Living Water to be received and recycled to others, despite my felt creakiness and aridity. Just showing up in those ways sends my roots rain, as T.S. Eliot prayed.

My summer pump can be primed by flowing Grace if it is trusted and used. This morning these words came to me from The Wisdom of Ben Sirach, a non-canonical pre-Christian source of ethical sayings, speaking of the Holy One:

As a mother shall she meet him…/with the Bread of Understanding shall she feed him,/ And give him the Water of Wisdom to drink. (15-2-3)

May I find that water for my soul and for our world!