Tag Archives: angels

Peaceful Places

21 Saturday May 2016

Posted by in beauty, blessing, music, paying attention, peace, pilgrimage, seeing

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PeacefulPlaceIHC

I noticed this week that although I have trusted that peace was first an interior attitude of Spirit, I also come more readily into peace (which passes understanding) when I am in a physical environment of peace. I enter into it whenever I am able to retreat to the Immaculate Heart Center at Casa de Maria in Santa Barbara. I felt it when I visited the exhibit of Agnes Martin paintings at the Los Angeles Museum of Art this week. I am always engulfed in peace when I hear concerts by the Los Angeles Master Chorale at Disney Hall. And I am learning more deeply, and leaning more fully into “the peace of wild things,” as Wendell Berry calls it, as I encounter and attend to the natural world.

This morning as I went out early to pick up the newspaper, as I was musing about the new stalks of irises about to bloom, yet again, I heard a thrilling and joyful birdsong which I was able to follow to a mockingbird perched on a “No Parking” sign directly across from my house. No one else was visible, no other noises were audible, and this moment there was a peaceful beauty as the sun rose in the east, that tuned my own heart to the Peace of the Holy. I sense in my body and soul when I have entered into a place of peace.

I wonder why I don’t seek out these places with more regularity. Between my enslavement to the clock, my anticipatory anxiety, and my restless mind, I find it difficult to follow Wendell Berry, to turn aside into the places and the things that foster peace. I don’t lack possibilities. Several years ago my husband and I each bought each other simultaneously, and unbeknownst to the other, a book called Peaceful Places in Los Angeles (Laura Randall, Menasha Ridge Press, 20010). Each week that summer I explored one of the 110 “tranquil sites” listed in the book. I selected a place for each Thursday morning, setting out with a sacred book, journal, hat, and sunglasses. I sat in the courtyard of Union Station downtown, perused the collection of the Long Beach Museum of Art on the ocean, savored the UCLA Murphy Sculpture Garden, and and browsed Small World Books in Venice. I visited for the first time the Lake Shrine Temple in Pacific Palisades and the labyrinth at the Neighborhood Church in Palos Verdes Estates.

Several things happened in these pilgrimages. I was removed from my quotidian routine and daily distractions; my sojourn was intentionally to seek the things that made for peace in my being. And I discovered delights and challenges right around me that I had never known were there. Not every single one felt like what the Celts call a “thin place,” where heaven and earth intersect, yet every one had things of beauty and interest. Moreover, the time and attention that I gave to this quest brought me nearer each time to that place of peace for which I yearn day after day.

So! my spiritual practice in this ordinary time leading into the summertime is to pick up the practice again. According to the book, there are many place that still await:Amir’s Garden in Griffith Park, the Baldwin Hills Scenic Overlook, Jin Patisserie in Venice, Wattles Garden Park in Hollywood, and many more. My guess is there are also hidden places of peace not even catalogued in the book.

And I need to bring my open heart. The apostle Paul write in Philippians that the steps to that openness are gratitude–again and again; gentleness to everybody; letting go of worry and anxiety, and: the peace of God which surpasses understanding will keep our hearts and minds safe (Phil 4:7) as we enter into the peaceful places.

Here’s to a summer of entering the places and practicing the attitudes that make for peace!

Personal photo taken in courtyard, Immaculate heart Center, Casa d Maria, Santa Barbara.

 

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Lent 1: Blessing the Children

13 Saturday Feb 2016

Posted by in blessing, children, Lent, prayer, Uncategorized

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In Lent this year, I am practicing some themes fromGreeneValentine15 Celtic spirituality, suggested by Joyce Rupp, one per week. Her first theme is to notice and celebrate the Presence of the Holy in the ordinary–the small details of our lives–our routines, our surroundings and the people who are front and center. She makes the suggestion that every morning and evening we bless our children.

I have prayed for each of my children and grandchildren since before they were born. But in picking up this Lenten practice which is more regular and more intense, I notice first that my prayers for them now are often either “defensive,” asking for protection or correction, or are just generic, “bless the beasts and the children” kinds of prayers. To bless them in a focused way twice a day is calling me to focus on each of them in his or her particularity, and to see them more deeply and lovingly.

John O’Donahue in his book, To Bless the Space between Us, describes blessing this way:

A blessing is not a sentiment or a question; it is a gracious invocation where the human heart pleads with the divine heart.

So I embark this practice with an open heart. What do I already know about each of them, two of them since their conception?  What do I still need to observe and to learn? In what can I take delight and rejoice? What concerns can I lift to the Holy One for healing, for satisfying, for directing, for deepening? And how can I be a blessing to each of them, without hovering, prying, judging or interfering?

It was a joy-filled exercise to inscribe in my journal the name of each one, and to limn out the qualities and aspects of that personality, as I pray for blessing for her or for him for that morning and evening. In the collection of the eight of them (in-laws included!), there is such diversity in temperament, style and  affections: introverts and extroverts, actors and contemplatives, students and athletes, cheerleaders and followers.  In addition, they all keep growing up, changing, even the adults among them, so that my list keeps inviting additions and subtractions day by day. I bless school assignments, sports events, play dates, rehearsals, and after-school lessons. I bless marriages, job searches, office politics, bank accounts. And I bless the working and loving, the hopes and the dreams, as well as bumps in the road that seem to block those dreams.  And I pray for each unique spirit of that growing one, made in the image of the Holy, that it be preserved and nourished, and, yes, protected, as it follows the path of the Spirit that is meant for it.

Joyce Rupp suggests this prayer of blessing:

May God and the angels guide, guard, and protect you this night.

And so I go to sleep praying this blessing for each one by name…Sean, Erica Lee, Dalton, Malakai, Erica Brooke, Ezra, Theo, Sadie. I am filled with hope as I bless each one, even  as I enter into the arms of the angels who watch and bless me as I sleep, believing that the One who is blessing me will also bless them. A loving way to begin Lent!

 

 

 

 

Christmastide

28 Monday Dec 2015

Posted by in Christmas, gratitude, Hope, paying attention

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Angels, announce with sounds of mirth, Christ who brings new life to earth. Set every peak and valley humming with the word, the Lord is coming. People, look east and sing today: Love, the Lord, is on the way. (Eleanor Farjeon)

My usual Christmas season routine was upended by many unusual things this year. I did not get to the anchoring concerts and gatherings that have lighted my way to the festival as I have had in previous years because of commitments and demands that were necessary for such a time as this. However, I did not lose the thread of the coming of Advent that was carried in the words and deeds of those angels who “set every peak and valley humming with the word, the Lord is coming.”

That humming came in words from the liturgy at the Blue Christmas service:

Lord, it is night. The night is dark. let our fears of the darkness of the world and of our own lives rest in you. The night is quiet. let the quietness of your peace enfold us all dear to us, and all who have no peace. Keep us in the truth that night heralds the dawn. Let us look expectantly to a new day, to new joys, to new possibilities.   (New Zealand Prayer Book).

The humming also rose from the bottom of the valley of the shadow in San Bernardino and Redlands when courageous and tenacious police and leaders of faith communities spoke and implemented wise words and actions in the face of overwhelming anguish and sorrow. Those communities were testimony to all of us of the way that new life could begin to come out of tragedy.

The angel humming grew sonorous as I heard the personal reflections of those who had emerged from sadness and doubt into trust and into joy, even though they still faced daunting challenges–personal and systemic. And the chorus swelled as grace and peace were carried in on seasons’ greetings from far and wide–some from hilltops, some from deep trenches, but all following the Star of the Light they knew.

I felt some days as if I were inside of a copper prayer bowl whose rim had been set vibrating by the angelic touches that alighted there. I received some personal touches–an affirmation from a former parishoner whom I had not ever known who still remembered my sermons and prayers, a word of thanks for something I didn’t know that I had done, a fresh introduction to the Art of Advent in a lecture and Powerpoint presentation given by my husband at church, and loud and enthusiastic singing of “Joy to the World” with my seven year old grand-daughter. I celebrated with gratitude the faithful, steady offerings of pastors, leaders, caregivers, service people who did not miss a beat with the increased tempo of the time of year, steadily providing what was needed and more to prepare the hearts of seeking to receive the One who was and is coming.

In many years of my life it has fallen to me and I have chosen to be the leader of the band of angels what “make Christmas happen,” as pastor, wife, mother, grandmother and friend. This year my call was to pay attention–to hear what I heard, see what I saw, feel what I felt–as many other angels set the hills and valleys and humming for the season. In these next days of Christmastide, I am living in the echoes of the melodies and harmonies set out for me in so many forms and media, allowing me to muse on the good news that I have celebrated, by reflecting, praying, pondering and savoring what it means. I know that it is life-giving, vision-casting and hope-replenishing.

God has blessed us–every one!

Open Heart–Holy Week

29 Sunday Mar 2015

Posted by in compassion, Lent, open heart

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IMG_0422Open my heart! In all the opening to God that I have sought to practice in these days of Lent, the most important one is to open my heart. I feel as if I have an open heart, have invited its blossoming and strengthened it for years, but as I take the turn in to Holy Week, I see the true exemplar of an open heart in Jesus.

Each gospel tells a unique story of good news in its version of the Jesus story; I am most drawn to John, whose storytelling I have been reading this Lent. I have been struck again by the number of unlikely people and systems to whom Jesus opened his heart: someone of another ethnicity; someone of another theological point of view; an insignificant housekeeper, Peter’s mother-in-law. In his encounter with the young man called a rich ruler he wasn’t taken with his money of his intellect, but looking at him, he loved him. With little children, he didn’t find them a nuisance, but invited them to come up and engage him. He had a capacity to see beyond the initial impression of each one and beyond what the projections of the culture was into the soul of a person, made in the image of the Holy One. Even in his own extremity of death from the cross, he opened his heart to the thief executed next to him, to his mother–entrusting her to John, and to all those who conspired and acted to kill him, “Father, forgive them; they don’t know what they are doing”

As I have been attending to my own openings, I see how what can seem to be appropriate boundary setting is often a closing of my heart to the God-shaped soul of the persons I encounter if I am not mindful and attentive. Each person that I ask to be of use to me–to cut my hair, to help me find something in a store, to show me how to use a new gadget–is someone made in the image of God, who has a story to tell, who is worthy of love. My call is open my heart to that soul for the time I am with them with attentiveness, love, and non-judgement. I too often don’t remember that call to an opening of my heart.

I watched a movie called “Nebraska” this week on Netflix, highly acclaimed from two years ago. The spine of the story was a son’s open-heartedness toward his aging, alcoholic and confused father. On the surface there was very little that was winsome or even tolerable about that father, but the son kept opening his heart and his action to his dad because he saw his heart and soul. It was breath-taking! Later in the week I saw an interview with the father of one of the victims of the Germanwings flight in France. He was grieving for his own son, but his deeper concern was for the parents of the co-pilot who apparently has deliberately killed the entire airplane; again, I witnessed his compassion for them and for their journey of grief which was astonishing and full of grace.

As I travel this week which we as Christians call holy, I am looking again at Jesus and those he encountered even as his went toward his own death, and at the way his heart never closed–even toward those who denied and betrayed him. I am looking at the exemplars in this world whose heart stay open against all odds int he face of unbearable oppression, cruelty and injustice. And I ask the Spirit for the courage and the Grace to be one of the open-hearted ones, who as Isaiah commended, is not one who points the finger speaking evil, but rather offers food for the hungry and satisfies the needs of the afflicted (Isa. 58: 9-10). I want with my open heart, not only to allow the angels to feed me as thy have throughout Lent, but to be one who sees, who feeds, who helps heal the wounds of this fractured world.

Personal photo of work by Judy Chicago, New Mexico Museum of Art, Santa Fe, New Mexico.

Opening my Mind-Lent IV

23 Monday Mar 2015

Posted by in changing my mind, Lent, opening my mind

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ChristthetheDesertIn this week of Lent I have mused on how opening my mind to the Presence of the Holy in me and around me could allow angels to feed me. I began reflecting on all the ideas I had once held firmly, and how I now have come to understand and to believe something different.

The angels who have fed me over the decades of my life are many–pastors, teachers, seminary professors, therapists, exemplars, writers–each one that was a game changer taking me to places where I never imagined I would go. Some have taken me deeper in the Mystery we call God. Some have widened my understanding of the complexity of being human. Some have taken scales off of my eyes or lifted my vision up to see that there are “more things than I have dreamed of” in this world that God has made–more diversity, more variety and ways of seeing. “What no eye has seen, nor ear heard, nor the human heart conceived, what God has prepared for those who love him”–these things God has revealed to us through the Spirit,” says Paul quoting the prophet Isaiah.

The editors of Christian Century asked a collection on theologians and spiritual writers to reflect on “How I Changed Mind,” now published in a book. Each essay chronicles a combination of an opening of mind along with an opening of heart and intention. As I look over my own mind shifts, the opening of my mind to the Spirit of God has been as important as my circumstances and my feelings. As one who was raised in a tradition that held “right” belief in higher honor than “right” feeling or “right” doing even, I had reservations about being too open minded. Yet in my journey I have found that each time I was willing to open my mind to what the Spirit was prompting, i encountered Holy Presence on the other side.

As a very young person, I would have been so surprised to see where the Spirit was opening my mind. I could not have imagined that a life of faithful following would lead me to a ministry of Word and Sacrament, a calling that I had been taught belonged only to men. I didn’t imagine that a closer reading of sacred text would demonstrate that all Christians are to be mutually submissive to one another, even in a marriage. I had not understood the radical inclusiveness of the company of Jesus that opened life and love to all who had been “othered” in my community–people with racial-ethnic provenance different from mine, those with a different sexual orientation, those whose faith practices looked very different from the practices I held dear. And I had missed nearly completely that global dimensions of the Christian mandate to love the world that God created and loves, including the creation itself. I would have been startled to know that I could have soul friends from many traditions–Judaism, Roman Catholic, “spiritual but no religious,” even self-proclaimed “nones.”

During Lent I have been reading The Rebirthing of God by John Philip Newell. He speaks about what we know what what we think we know, yet he also is aware than there is much within us and in the outer world that is still unclear. He says, “We long for what we do not yet know to emerge from hidden and unawakened depths within us into the light of the day, into the realm of consciousness.” (91). My prayer for this practice is that in my longing to know more about the Mystery, I will be willing to open my mind to the ways that the Holy One is being revealed, and that i will honor the angels who bring that awareness to me.

Personal phono at Christ in the Desert Monastery, Mew Mexico.

Opening my Hands-Lent III

14 Saturday Mar 2015

Posted by in Lent, touching

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communionHandsOpening myself to the presence of God in life, and letting the angels feed me, this has been my Lenten practice; this week I have tried to open my hands. I have a strained relationships with my hands because I am not “handy” or coordinated or deft. But, midway through the week I realized the invitation was to OPEN, not to create or craft or accomplish. What was the Spirit bringing to my hands–or by extension, my physical body–that took me more deeply in to the Presence of the Holy? I began to sense how God often comes to me in the things I encounter with my hands.

Some days I baked bread, then brewed tea and coffee for those who came to visit, and my hands came close embodying St. Teresa’s mandate that our hands are God’s hands as they share hospitality with beauty and grace. The frosting on the cake was when my 10 year old grandson said to me with shining eyes, “I love this cake, Mormor! You are such a good cook.” I knew that on a very practical level Betty Crocker had put the baking mix into my hands, but as I opened my hands to receive and to use it, I became a vehicle for God’s hospitality and grace.

I noticed that as I sit listening, I often have open hands, as if to receive the words coming to me, not only with my ears, but with my entire being. My hands are an articulate part of my style of communication, and when I can open them, I am able to receive more from those that the Spirit brings into my life. I went back to Jon Sweeney’s wonderful book, Praying With Our Hands: 21 Practices of Embodied Prayer from the World’s Spiritual Traditions, (Skylark Press, 2000) to recall how many ways my hands can be the entry point for the Holy One’s gifts to me. I remember learning to pray by my bedside at night with hands folded in front of me, and have those same folded hands during grace before a meal. I remembered the weight of the hands of colleagues in ministry on my hand and shoulders as I was being ordained and installed in various ministries to which I have been called, and then, paying it forward, as I will tomorrow again, opening my own hands in affirmation and blessing to others, many of whom were my students, being ordained to ministries of their own. My hands have nearly glowed and tingled with the sense of the Spirit using the open hands that were offered there to transmit the Spirit in all Her power, beauty and unpredictability.

I receive God’s Presence through the variety of the textures that brush past me, that come alongside me daily. This week there was the silk-like coat of my new puppy, the soft petals of the new roses opening each morning, the plushness of the comforter on my bed, the richness of the ripe avocados on my tongue, the fuzziness of my grandson’s hair as I tousled it, the strong and tan skin of my beloved who accompanies my daily. Each one has been a manifestation of the grandeur of God as I have touched it.

And then, I hold dear the holiness and nourishment of the Eucharist, which I receive in bread and the cup, and which I celebrate at the table from time to time. Bread for the journey held in my hand, strength for the day held in the cup. Communion is the place where I can let go of whatever barriers and strings I wrap in my fists, and allow myself, along with the gathered ones, to open to the Mystery of Faith, to receive in my very own hand the Body and the Blood of the Beloved. And I come to know again and again the Presence as I am fed by angels. Open hands!

Opening My Eyes-Lent III

08 Sunday Mar 2015

Posted by in Lent, seeing

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IMG_3358I prayed that me eyes would be open this past week–to Holy Presence, to what I needed to see, to things I had not seen before. However, I found that it was not at all that simple. Many things competed to be seen and noticed every moment of every day, so I needed to add to my prayer, “Which lens are You giving me to use today? and what do You want me to savor and let sink into my consciousness in the days ahead?”

One day, with assistance from Christin Valters Paintner from her contemplative book Eyes of the Heart, I was caught by the lens of wonder, love and praise in the blueness in the world–cerulean, cobalt, cyan, cornflower, so many shades and hues that are part of creation, both divine and human, and in the intersections of those creative energies. I have had as a motto in my heart and on my refrigerator for many years: If you are going to be blue, be bright blue! The contemplation of that color, amongst so many colors, reminded me of the paradoxical nature of being a creature in God’s world–light and darkness, coexisting in our personal and collective lives. And I was thankful!

Another day I was overtaken by the lens of lament as I was thrust into the world of the commuter in which I spent much of my life and ministry. Freeway lanes and ramps, Metro platforms, parking lots, all  were jam packed with beings, and cars and trucks were laden with people on deadline heading toward their appointed rounds. For so many, stress lay head of them, and so many we know are  caught in systems of injustice and dead ends. Meanwhile, the news media on the radio counted out its tales of grief and horror as I drove, and I remembered Jesus lamenting over his city of vocation, Jerusalem, and his cry of prayer: Would that you knew the things that made for peace! I was led to praying in grief and sorrow that the Word of peace and hope would descend upon my city, my country, my county, even I prayed for the peace in Jerusalem and the rest of the world.

The lament became more personal another day when I heard of the untimely death of young man, someone my daughter’s age. The lens of grief and sorrow became my window into the world that day as I faced the realities of human frailty, brokenness and mortality. Once again I remembered how Jesus was present to me through that lens–meeting Mary and Martha at the tomb of their brother, Lazarus, and greeting Mary Magdalene in the garden of his own tomb. He bears our grief and carries our sorrows.

And then the lens of wholeness and healing opened up God’s presence to me on a day when I was able to notice places where the crooked had been made straight, where peace had come where there had been no peace, where the wounded had been made whole. A bereft friend is stepping into new life. A church community has opened itself to some new awareness of the presence of the Spirit. Traveling mercies, healing mercies, surprises of grace are attending the journeys of so many I can observe, as they commit themselves to the Good, toward the healing of the world. Grace abounds, and I can see the goodness of the Holy when I open my eyes.

In my Lenten journey I am seeking to open myself to the Presence of the Holy One within me and around me, and let the angels feed me. Opening my eyes, letting the Spirit gives me the lens for the moment, is allowing me to see that Holy One more clearly, and I am fed by the angels who embody what I can see of God’s ways in the world. I am blessed and grateful!

Opening my Ears-Lent II

01 Sunday Mar 2015

Posted by in Lent, listening, music, scripture

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ListenSantaFeI am practicing openness this Lent–opening myself to God’s presence and letting the angels feed me, as Ronald Rolheiser says. I have begun with the prayer “Open my ears, Lord.” I noticed first that hearing is not my primary sense organ. I rely much more on the eyes, so I have been surprise how often I have had to remind myself to LISTEN each day.

I am certainly not helped by the amount of noise that is around me no matter where I am in this city. Even in the still of the morning I can hear the hum of the freeway two blocks away, and the drone of helicopter and plane as they move over the air lanes toward the two airports with in reach. Often nature itself chimes in with gusty winds, dogs barking to protect their territory, even birds a-squabble in the trees that line my yard. My house has machines humming, doors opening and closing, and computers bursting with YouTube clips, yammering to be played.

The noise that is more insistent come from deep inside, the constant interior chatter of my monkey mind, full of primitive wisdom that is not longer useful, habitual emotional tracks without much basis in reality, and a hummingbird attention span that natters to be fed. So I am invited to LISTEN, an intention which takes time, space and practice.

In this week in which I have focused in listening, I have been mindful of the boy Samuel, who when hearing an intimation of the Holy One calling his name, responded, “Speak, Lord, your servant is listening.” Along with that prayer, I also pray to discern among the madrigal threads that interweave in my brain and heart, “Which one is the voice of the Holy?” Barring an appearance from the Angel Gabriel, who does not seem to know my address, God speaks to me through other messengers.

I begin with sacred text…listening for the Word that shimmers, or rather rings a bell for me. I am loving the daily lectionary texts, this week from Deuteronomy and Hebrews, reminding me to remember and to rest, two spiritual practices that are not organic for me, but ones which deepen my awareness of the Holy. Once again John’s gospel gives me Jesus is a way that is inviting and compelling.

I hear Presence when I LISTEN to music in a whole-body way–the clarinet of Richard Stolzman, the chorales of the Orthodox monks—all inhabit my being with a sense of the sacred. Sometimes it is my own longing that is carried on the wail of Bonnie Raitt’s voice and guitar. But then, my heart can be  grounded and consoled by a Bach cantata. What I hear opens me to the Holy One.

I keep being reminded to LISTEN to my own heart. The Spirit is in residence there, a gift of God to keep me from being alone, to energize me, to direct me into the next right step. How baffling it is to get so separated from myself so easily, yet how clearly the flow of the Spirit emerges when I turn my heart of LISTEN, to my own heartbeat, and with J. Philip Newell, to the heartbeat of God. It is here where I come to know which ones of the many griefs of the world are mine to notice, to attend to, to act toward healing. It is here that I discover the invitations that have my name on them, and which ones can be let go. It is here that I face the unhealed and unworthy practices in me that call for a turning away and an asking forgiveness.

in the welter of noise that is the world I which I live, I am called to LISTEN in each capsule of time for the one thing necessary to recognize how the Holy One is here, and then to let the angels tune my heart and voice as they feed me. Open my ears, Lord, that I may hear your voice!

Openings in Lent-I

22 Sunday Feb 2015

Posted by in Lent

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images-9My heart was caught with these words in my preparation for Lent by Fr. Ronald Rolheiser in his introduction to the season in God For Us: Rediscovering the Meaning of Lent and Easter. He says:

It is a time to slowly prepare our souls. It is a time to open ourselves to the presence of God in our lives and let the angels feed us. (xiv).

Open…opening…opened. It has been a spiritual work of mine for years to set boundaries, boundaries determined by humility and call, boundaries set by faithfulness and responsibility, boundaries shaped by training and experience. So this Word comes to me as a surprise this season, yet it comes with force and resonance. I have a visceral response to it, as I notice the places that my muscles are taut and inelastic. I have an emotional response to it–one of anxiety about my vulnerability. I have a rational response to it, I who was given drink at the well of “good fences make good neighbors.” But I know there is an invitation for me here in this Lenten season.

I came late in my spiritual journey to Lenten practices; they were not part of the tradition of my imprinting. Yet, I have found them very helpful in focusing my musings and actions for well over 30 years now. However, the word OPEN is asking me to leave the practices in my life alone this year, let them stay as they are, but also pray into a less empirical, more organic practice of daily opening myself to the Presence of the Holy, without analyzing a list of what i have accomplished or not, and to pay attention to the places where the angels are feeding me.

In these first few days I am fumbling with his practice-that-is-not-a-practice, but I am noticing a few things already. I remember a song taught to me by a Roman Catholic sister, committed to social justice: Open my eyes, Lord, that I may see your face; Open my ears, Lord, that I may hear your voice. Open my heart, Lord, that I might love like you. Then, into what feels like a more ample space, I am able to notice without judging, the myriad ways that I experience the Holy One in me, for me, with me.

  • some sheer joy at the way the Spirit is healing and moving in someone else
  • some noticings of things unobserved before: a Bach oboe solo, a gathering of small yellow birds in front of my house, a delicious hamburger made by my son-in-law
  • some freedom after healing when I am called to greet the ghosts of days past
  • some new fascinations when I see how Word and art meet, in the museum or in my reading and conversation
  • some healthy awareness that I still need vigilance in the areas of envy, fear and acedia

My teacher and friend, Jan Richardson, tells me this week that:

In the wilderness, there are angels.

I have been fed by them: in a phone call, in an e-mail, in an unexpected smile, in a fresh brewed cup of coffee, in the writing of Ronald Rolheiser, in the synchronicity of my reading and doing, and in so many other places. In my openness I can see so many places where angels love to be in my life (Thank you, Jan!). So the call remains this year to be open–without a laundry list, anything that I can check off, and to notice when and where the Holy One and the angels show up.

I had just remembered this quotation form Anais Nin yesterday, when it was posted by a new Facebook friend, another slice of Angelfood:

And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.

Anais Nin

Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/authors/a/anais_nin.html#gBov25XfTZ5L8dHO.99

Yes, that is my Lenten invitation–to risk blossoming! Open my heart, O Holy One! I am ready for the angels to feed me!

How Will I Know The Way?

14 Saturday Feb 2015

Posted by in Discernment, pilgrimage

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GrowIt’s always important to know where you are going…if possible! But Thomas, the friend of Jesus, poses my question: “Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?” (Jn.14:5). I am one who is on the journey, but often I am confused or just in the dark about a way forward.

Jesus refers his closest friends back to their journey with him already: “I am the way,” he says. It became a cliche several years back to ask one’s self “What would Jesus do?” But, in many ways we know how to go forward because we have already learned what is important. Jesus taught love, forgiveness, inclusiveness, kindness and compassion. None of those steps or actions can be the wrong steps, no matter where we find ourselves.

And he also promised that his close friends would experience the Spirit living within them, reminding them of the ways of love. In celebrating my retirement, my beloved friend Sandy preached a whiz-bang sermon, in which she likened the Holy Spirit to a spiritual GPS in our travels, giving us course correction, reminding us to back up and turn around, telling when we have taken a wrong route. I have experienced that GPS within me, making itself known in sacred reading, in quiet prayer, in conversation with others. It is a source of creative energy, a fountain which produces ideas that seem to come from nowhere, about how to love, when to be quiet, and ways to think outside the box about knotty problems.

That Spirit also sharpens my senses to signs along the way that I might not be aware of otherwise. While I traveled last fall in northern New Mexico, I came out of my room one morning to see the sign on the grass in front of my room. It invited me to GROW! There were no further instructions at that site, but I was challenged to muse on ways I can still grow. I see that I can still learn to strengthen my body so that I can walk and hike to places I never imagined. I have set myself reading that is beyond my comfort zone, so that my intellect is still gathering and processing points of view that I have never considered. Social media has allowed me to converse with and pray with and for people whom I have not met, but whose view from their location opens me to a wider caring and commitment to the healing of the world that God loves. Signs abound in my life with the Spirit lens with which to view them, and they lead me onward. How could I have known that installing a drought resistant garden in the front yard would bring me a more joyful appreciation of the varieties of creation and prompt me to a deeper commitment to the care of that creation and its resources?

I will know they ways by the journey itself, by the Spirit guide who accompanies me, and points me to signs. The artist Brian Andreas helps me know how to look for them: