Sometimes the world narrows down to just me and my present experience of the moment, even though my mind know about the infinite number of people of the world and the great capacity of the Creator who made it and who loves it. Undergoing surgery two weeks ago my only focus was my wholeness held by the Holy One, for the procedure, for the aftermath, for the recovery. And all those feel very long.
Yet this song keeps pealing through my body and heart. I learned it first from my mother, whom I remember singing it, tear streaming down her face as she cooked in a steaming hot kitchen, her heart bereft with some secret sorrow. Then I heard Ethel Waters sing it in the movie, “Member of the Wedding,” and later Mahalia Jackson, commanding complete attention in Royce Hall at UCLA. Not for a second did any of the singers forget the grief and care of the world, but in the moment of singing, the microcosm of particular need to be held under the eye of God herself. echoing the Psalmist, as she prayed her personal prayer for healing and Presence was the trust-filled longing of her heart.
In my recovery, I am still hearing this song in my veins, muscles, nerves, bones. I have been “watched” by the Beloved, I am being healed by the Great Physician, I am being comforted by the Spirit, and in my heart I sing.
The practice of spiritual pilgrimage has captured my soul’s imagination since I was a young adult; the setting out into the unknown in the company of and the longing for the Presence of the Holy One has been the central metaphor of my journey. This hymn by the late Stephen Paulus captures both the tenor and the essence of my hopes for my life. Tomorrow I set out on a new pilgrimage, that of spinal surgery and recovery. I carry this hymn in my heart, and believe it is one carried by all the other pilgrims of my love and life, no matter what their own words might be. Grace and peace go with us!
PILGRIMS’ HYMN
Even before we call on Your name
to ask You, O God,
when we seek for the words to glorify You,
You hear our prayer;
unceasing love, O unceasing love,
surpassing all we know,
Glory to the Father,
and to the Son,
And to the Holy Spirit.
Even with darkness sealing us in,
we breathe Your name,
and through all the days that follow so fast,
we trust in You;
endless Your grace, O endless Your grace,
beyond all mortal dream.
Both now and forever,
And unto ages and ages,
Amen
The last practice from Joyce Rupp that I am observing this holy season is repeating the “lorica,” a Celtic prayer attributed to St. Patrick, invoked for protection and mindfulness. Last week on St. Patrick’s Day my inbox was filled with images and versions of that prayer, in calligraphy, icon and song. I knew that I was going to pray it myself this week, so I enjoyed the diversity of forms that were shared. From the extended prayer, I especially like these parts:
I arise today with the strength of God to comfort me, the might of God to uphold me, the wisdom of God to guide me…
Christ before me, Christ behind me, Christ beneath me, Christ above me, Christ with me, Christ within me, Christ around me, Christ about me, Christ on my left, Christ on my right…Christ in the heart of everyone that thinks of me, Christ in each mouth that speaks of me, Christ in each eye that sees me, Christ in each one that hears me.
The cadence and the tempo of the prayer ground me in my present moment, who I am right now, and from whence my help comes. But the image of a lorica is an armored breastplate–from medieval times, metal, sturdy impenetrable. Whether it is too remote by centuries or location or I am not a military type, I don’t find that image helpful. Nor, as I looked through books of painting and sculptures of Christ at the end of his life, did I find one that represented the sense on presence and protection that the lorica gives me. Then I remembered that for several decades I have always carried with me a postcard of Rembrandt’s “Christ in the Storm.” The painting was stolen from the Isabella Stewart Gardner museum many years ago, but before it was stolen, I was able to see it hanging there. The painting is huge, impressive, compelling. From the first glance I was captivated by it–the contrast of light and dark, the characters of fear and confusion, and in half-light down toward the right of the painting is Jesus asleep in the boat. The image of the sleeping, yet powerful Christ, stays with me, especially when my own “rough seas” seem to be gigantic and overwhelming. No matter what, I can trust the One who is at rest because he knows that all will be well, and at the right moment, he will rise and say, “Peace, be still,” to the madness, the wreckage, the terror that swirls around me, that swirls in our systems of work and connection, that swirls in the chaotic world.
So in these last days of Lent and Holy Week, I wake each morning saying the words of the Lorica, keeping in the eye of my heart the Christ whose knowledge and power and grace will bring all things to wholeness in the fullness of time.
May Christ guard me today from poison and fire, from drowning and wounding, so my mission may bear fruit in abundance.
I prefer my image of Jesus from Rembrandt to the art in this youtube from the Celtic Women, but the song with the words helps me in my planting myself at peace with Jesus in the boat. May each of you have holy days of trust and peace despite the raging of the storm and the roiling of the waters!
When 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.
A Musing Amma 