I got so engulfed in the book today that I finally noticed I was 5 minutes late getting back to work from noon break. <blush> I love reading, but it's seldom a book captivates me to the point I'm late for work. There were 3 pages that were so full of goodies that I stand with my mouth open and trying not to drool. Amazing. Some I knew; but now know deeper. Some is new information that I will trust God to help me incorporate into liturgy to make it a deeper and more meaningful experience - that hopefully will follow me and become more a part of me during the hours between liturgies.
p. 88 Much of the liturgy for the Mass, filled with its formularies, prayers, and creeds, is well over a thousand years old. I was moved that people were offering up the same words, giving expression to the same truths, in different languages and time zones all around the globe that very day. Some were singing the liturgy in grand cathedrals in Europe, some under a lush canopy of trees in Africa. Some were performing the liturgy in secret house churches in China, and others in prison chapels. Where or how it was said didn't matter. Solidarity mattered.
That is just one part of the Liturgical ancient rituals I like. I feel connected with my grandparents who were raised Roman Catholic, their forefathers and foremothers who worshiped with the same form for probably centuries. I feel connected with my nine grandchildren who are being raised Roman Catholic and thus progeny for centuries may say the same prayers, the same chants, the same blessings. As a single woman and the only one of my bio-family in this country, at Liturgy, I don't feel like a kid peering in a candy-store window wanting to belong; but I belong just because I show up and participate. Our oratory does not reflect those exact sacred spaces depicted in the author's paragraph; but the rhythm of life, the rhythm of worship continues on.
p. 91 My shrink says grieving is like walking in molasses you plow through it one step at a time.
What a wonderful description. It's not just the difficulty and pain of grieving, it's remembering to keep taking one step forward even when I'd rather lay down in the molasses and stay stuck in the sweet, gooey mess. Yes, for me there is a part of me who would like to stay the perpetual victim; but God propels me on and shows me when I think of myself as victim and when I see myself as His child. I can't live in both victim mode and beloved child mode - so I have to pick. As silly as it sounds, when I'm in victim mode, it's hard to pick being the beloved child.
p. 94 Augustine said the human mind was particularly delighted when truth was presented to it indirectly, like in symbols and sacred space. Unfortunately, most churches today are designed without any sense of the iconic because moderns like straightforward, unambiguous communication. We want "worship centers" where hominess is more important than holiness."
I love that a small band of visionaries in my parish came up with a great space when they designed the building. The building is designed to assist in the mission of hospitality and spirituality (as I said, it's Benedictine). I love the oratory with seating in the round where we can see each other and make eye contact. I love the baptismal font at the entry to the oratory as a reminder of the entrance into the Christian walk; eventually it will be redone so babies can have their head baptized and adults can chose to be immersed. I love the bank of windows along the front wall that reminds me that "out there" is my community mission field. It is simple, functional, but has enough symbolism to help me find new depths of worship.
p 94 (the main character, a Protestant pastor, speaking of designing his church with 3000 congregation) I realize that what I had asked for was "lights, camera, action!" rather than "Father, Son and Holy Ghost."
I believe there is a place for technology; but if technology doesn't support tradition and deepen the worship experience, then it's just fluff and an annoyance rather than a blessing.
p 94 (the Protestant pastor speaking) Now we were getting into the spooky stuff. When we started Putnam Hill, we downplayed the Communion thing because is didn't fit into our seeker-sensitive paradigm. We have it once a quarter but it's kind of like eating broccoli--we don't particularly enjoy it but we do it because Mom says it's good for us.
The only pre-Anglican communions that stand out in my mind were the ones in Superior, NE, on New Year's Eve. We'd meet for pot-luck supper, table games, fellowship, a family movie, then have praise and worship and a sermon. Shortly before midnight, each family would take communion together, kneeling as the pastor laid hands on each member (young children were often asleep in their parents arms) and it was often 3 or 4 in the morning before the 2 or 3 dozen families had taken the bread and grape juice and been prayed over. I remember it feeling so very special and intimate and nourishing. Now I feel that deep nourishing intimacy every Sunday and Wednesday when I take the Communion.
p. 95 Church started the moment you got in the car......The liturgy started the moment you started separating yourself from this world so you could join the rest of the body of Christ.
I like that. I wonder if this time of studying and praying about becoming Franciscan is part of liturgy - part of separating to join the rest of the body of Christ in a new way. Yet, I know I'm not called to be a hermit (is that the right word?); so this separating will be for deeper spirituality so I will have more to give when I'm in community - whether that is church community, local community or my ministry community.
p. 95 In the liturgy, every act is a metaphor or symbol. The word liturgy literally means 'the work of the people.' It's an ancient text that helps us reenact the redemption drama. What we're reciting is a compressed version of the redemption story. At the end of it, we can't help but be moved to cry out with all the angels and archangels, "Thanks be to God!" and give our lives to the God who gave his life for us.
Nodding my head in agreement. It's so beautiful and meaningful to me that I can't denigrate that experience by words.
p. 95 (the older priest speaking to the Protestant pastor) The word Eucharist means 'thanksgiving.' it's that moment in the 'work of the people' when we partake of the divine life and experience the presence of Christ in a way that can be particularly intense. .... Jesus draws very near at the Eucharist, and that can be unnerving. But think of it as a homecoming celebration. In the Eucharist, we're united with God, all the saints, the earth that gave us the bread and wine, and with the whole universe! The Eucharist is the sacrament of love and joy. (the old priest speaking of his laying prostrate on the floor before the alter during the Eucharist) Sometimes God meets me in it in a way that I can't explain.
Nodding my head in agreement. During Eucharist, I felt united to other Christians (both living, dead, yet unborn and yet unconceived), but I hadn't thought of the bread and wine uniting me to earth and to the universe. Wow, powerful.
I haven't yet read or been taught what 'work of the people is' in liturgy; but it seems that a big part of that for me at this stage is learning to be present to what is happening rather then daydreaming, analyzing, questioning... like contemplation only with external awareness to what is going on spiritually while still being aware of the inner movements in my spirit. If so, no wonder it is WORK of the people.
p. 96 I like Catholics, especially Italian ones. If someone weeps in church here, it's just business as usual. They cry lighting candles for a sick relative, looking at Jesus suffering on the cross, or touching the feet of a saint captured in marble.
I found that interesting because my parish is similar. There's been more than once during or after Eucharist when I've seen tears - often through smiles of joy - as people return to their seat after partaking in the Great Thanksgiving. I am so very grateful God has brought me to Parish of the Resurrection.
p. 96 we're not just Homo sapiens (knowing people) but Homo eucharistica (Eucharistic people) as well. In other words, we need more than reason or information to nourish our faith; we're built for firsthand experiences of God through things like the Eucharist as well.
I like that. It goes along with what Augustine said about humans needing symbols and sacred space. I feel my faith has increased since I've been going to the Anglican church and reflecting on the depth of liturgy and Eucharist. Now that I have learned the rudiments of experiencing God in symbols; I can find God easier find God in other venues. In a newborn with his hand wrapped around his mommy's finger; in the clouds changing shapes in the sky; in the rhythm of the rain; in the compassion of a friend; in recognizing the frustration of another driver since God gave us emotions; in the rippling leaves as a breeze blows in the trees; and especially in the quiet of meditation and contemplation.
p. 96 The world is so hungry for God that God could only come as a piece of bread. We so long for joy that God even risked coming into the world in the form of intoxication, that risky thing called wine.
I like that quote and it can add new facets to the beauty of Eucharist. A few years ago I would have rejected it because of who spoke it; but now I can embrace Truth even if it's from a source, Ghandi, that would have scandalized me back then.
p. 96-97 Some time back I heard someone say that the Bible is less a book that tells us what to do than a story that tells us who we are. Maybe that's why the liturgy moved me last Sunday. It took me on a guided journey where I was reminded of who I am, where I came from, how things have gotten so out of whack in this world, how God intervened, and how history is going to end. For so long now I've felt dislocated, and the liturgy helped relocate me. I'm not a character in search of an Author: I have a story.
That makes sense. When I know who I am - then what I do would follows as close as a shadow. For me, trying to figure out how to behave doesn't show me how to be a human being, but a human doing.
This feels vain to me, but I know it's a truth for me. The more I know who God is, the more I know who I am; the more I know who I am, the more I know who God is. There's an interconnectedness that I have just started to discover. At times that thought is almost overwhelming and at other times it's more comforting and warming then my flannel nightie.
_________________
I did the morning office and office of reading. I went to work. I forgot about doing the evening one. I did the invitatory and night prayer before bed. I online chatted with a friend who is becoming a Benedictine and she encouraged me and reminded me that in time doing the office will feel natural and I will automatically want to do it because it will gain such a place in my life and time. Where I've struggled with time management in the past, I think that was my fear - that I'd never gain joy of the rhythm of the daily office but it would be a struggle. It felt good to know that my "prediction" is not the set-in-stone outcome. Yay.
Saturday 26 January 2013
Friday 25 January 2013
"Chasing Francis" Part 2 and Ecology
Friday, January 25, 2013
Today I'll continue with quotes from Chasing Francis: A Novel by Ian Morgan Cron.
p. 54 "The word agnostic means 'not knowing.' There are countless mysteries that I have to stand before reverently and humbly while saying, 'I don't know.' It has taken me a long time to accept this."
Very interesting. I have always considered myself a believer and I believe in God: Father, Son and Holy Spirit without doubt. But I stand before God with areas of not knowing and not understanding and trying to find childlike faith so the dissonance doesn't pull me away from what I already know and believe. Maybe calling the bucket full of unknowns the agnostic portion of my faith is a way to remove the dissonance. In my agnostic bucket are things God will show me in His good time; while in the mean time they are just unknowns, agnostics, and not the stuff to fret or worry about or try to decipher. They are the agnostic areas whose flip side is trusting the Unknowable God to reveal in His time or never reveal if that is His will.
p. 54-55 "...no one tradition has a corner on the faith market. Sharing the wisdom each of our traditions bring to the table will create more well-rounded Christians. Francis was a Catholic, an evangelical street preacher, a radical social activist, a contemplative who devoted hours to prayer, a mystic who had direct encounters with God, and someone who worshiped with all the enthusiasm and spontaneity of a Pentecostal. He was a wonderful integration of all the theological streams we have today."
Wow. I don't know much about St. Francis except he sensed God in nature; but what I'm learning I like. I like the idea of Ecumenical faith. I know having been raised Methodist, finding faith at age 25, going to a disciples of Christ Bible school for a year, and moving into the Fundamental and then Pentecostal/Charismatic area and then into the Liturgical movement has given me a great appreciation for the various traditions. Each one has added depths to my faith and given me a greater appreciation for what each one brings to the body of Christ. If somebody reads this and wonders how I handle the diversity of doctrines exemplified in those traditions, it is easy to answer. When I get to heaven, Jesus is going to ask me if I followed the Great Commandment of allowing myself to be loved by God and then letting that love spill into loving others. I don't think he'll ever ask me, "Debbie, was your doctrine right?" I see no Biblical scripture or traditional precedent that says my doctrine has to be exact to "earn" heaven. I may get into more about how that works for me in the future, or maybe not. But it does work for me and I have no dissonance but am full of God's peace about it.
p. 59 "In Catholic universities, a doctorate in theology is not referred to as a PhD but as an STD. Doctor of Sacred Theology. It's an unfortunate name for a degree. It must be hard for someone's mother to say, "I'm so proud of my little boy. He went to seminary and got an STD."
That made me laugh. It probably doesn't fit with why I'm discovering I want to become a Franciscan; but it reminds me of God's wonderful sense of humor and whimsey.
p. 67 "Everywhere I go, I meet people, old and young, from all over the world, and they tell me about their lives, their relationships, broken families, their addictions, shame, guilt, failures. You'll never be able to speak into their souls unless you speak the truth about your own wounds. You need to tell them what our Lord has come to mean to you in the midst of your disappointments and losses. All ministry begins at the ragged edges of our own pain. .... I'd never thought sharing my brokenness with people was an effective church growth technique.
I liked this because it mirrors my own life. I love my behind the scenes ministry of loving some of the world's most wonderful people who are going through hard times or non-traditional lifestyles and who are there to encourage me in my own hard times. I beam when I see them start to grow and trust God again after they grieve whatever loss (usually the loss of a dream) has happened to them. I love them discovering how their inner unknown areas propelled them into a relationship that would result in such devastation. I love what God has me doing and I'm grateful I have a venue to do it. I'm so content that I am reluctant to take the next step of writing a book about inner healing. But I trust God to lead me in His timing to do whatever He wills.
The challenge for me is to not give answers; but to be a compassionate listener and, when requested, tell my story; and, if not, to just listen and let them find their own answers. It's a learning process.
p. 67 "Do you know the story of Rabbi Zusya?" he asked. "He was a Chasidic master who lived in the 1700s. One day he said, "When I get to the heavenly court, God will not ask me 'Why weren't you Moses?' Rather he will ask me, 'Why were you not Zusya?'"
Whoa. I like that. For me the first step started about 1999 when I went to counseling and 12-step to start the process of figuring out who I was. I really had no idea. Between my counselor and my beloved 12-step sponsor (who I never met in person), they left enough bread crumbs in the path I was able to find myself. I like the quote by Oscar Wilde, ""Be yourself; everyone else is already taken."
Knowing who I am also means being responsible for my own stuff; allowing others the freedom to be responsible for their own stuff; and that frees me to have joy and peace. I LOVE my life.
p. 67 "Churches should be places where people come to hear the story of God and to tell their own. That's how we find out how the story of God and to tell their own. That's how we find out how the two relate. Tell your story with all of its shadows and fog, so people can understand their own. They want a leader who's authentic, someone trying to figure out how to follow the Lord Jesus in the joy and wreckage of life. They need you, not Moses."
I like that. Not much else to say except I give it two thumbs up!
p. 79 The word work in Hebrew is abad and it means 'to serve,' to be a servant to creation. The word for 'to take care of' is shamar. It implies watchful care and preservation. We allowed these texts to be twisted so that dominion became domination and stewardship became exploitation. The problem is, once you damage or break just one of the links in the Great Chain of Being, the whole is affected. Everything in the natural world is connected. If we destroy it, we destroy ourselves.
Wow. This has been quite a change for me. Historically, I'd practice ecology by not littering on the street; but that was about as deep as I understood the concept. I said I'd some day tell my story of how I decided to start learning to take care of this beautiful planet where God placed us.
On December 14, 2012, I had a gently surprising conversation. A week or before that date, I said I'm never alone because God is with me and if I don't want to talk to him, I could always talk to my viruses, E.Coli and bacteria that share this body or earth suit. I started to talk to the 39,000,000 Hepatitis C viruses that live inside me; I asked them one question: "Why are you destroying the earth suit that keeps you alive?" I had this reply (no it wasn't a verbal voice, just an inner knowing) "We learned it from you, human." Oh my goodness. Yes, us humans are destroying this earth, so it's not surprising it has gone through the chain and even viruses follow our example. I've been trying since then to be more gentle to this planet that I ride around this galaxy on... and maybe that is the secret to teach the inner viruses to stop destroying the earth suit we share.
I certainly don't do ecology perfect or even well yet. But I am learning. It is a start and I won't despise small beginnings. I think being a Franciscan will help me grow in that quest.
_________________
Today some family issues came up. I had my quarterly appointment with my MD to review my blood work. I chatted on the phone to friends. I messaged with my children's father. Unfortunately, I will only get one divine office done today. I will have to figure out how to better schedule these things. Tomorrow I'm back to work, so will need to see how to incorporate secular life with orders. I am not beating myself up over it; but I am putting a red flag so I will pay attention and better utilize my time so God isn't squeezed out.
Today I'll continue with quotes from Chasing Francis: A Novel by Ian Morgan Cron.
p. 54 "The word agnostic means 'not knowing.' There are countless mysteries that I have to stand before reverently and humbly while saying, 'I don't know.' It has taken me a long time to accept this."
Very interesting. I have always considered myself a believer and I believe in God: Father, Son and Holy Spirit without doubt. But I stand before God with areas of not knowing and not understanding and trying to find childlike faith so the dissonance doesn't pull me away from what I already know and believe. Maybe calling the bucket full of unknowns the agnostic portion of my faith is a way to remove the dissonance. In my agnostic bucket are things God will show me in His good time; while in the mean time they are just unknowns, agnostics, and not the stuff to fret or worry about or try to decipher. They are the agnostic areas whose flip side is trusting the Unknowable God to reveal in His time or never reveal if that is His will.
p. 54-55 "...no one tradition has a corner on the faith market. Sharing the wisdom each of our traditions bring to the table will create more well-rounded Christians. Francis was a Catholic, an evangelical street preacher, a radical social activist, a contemplative who devoted hours to prayer, a mystic who had direct encounters with God, and someone who worshiped with all the enthusiasm and spontaneity of a Pentecostal. He was a wonderful integration of all the theological streams we have today."
Wow. I don't know much about St. Francis except he sensed God in nature; but what I'm learning I like. I like the idea of Ecumenical faith. I know having been raised Methodist, finding faith at age 25, going to a disciples of Christ Bible school for a year, and moving into the Fundamental and then Pentecostal/Charismatic area and then into the Liturgical movement has given me a great appreciation for the various traditions. Each one has added depths to my faith and given me a greater appreciation for what each one brings to the body of Christ. If somebody reads this and wonders how I handle the diversity of doctrines exemplified in those traditions, it is easy to answer. When I get to heaven, Jesus is going to ask me if I followed the Great Commandment of allowing myself to be loved by God and then letting that love spill into loving others. I don't think he'll ever ask me, "Debbie, was your doctrine right?" I see no Biblical scripture or traditional precedent that says my doctrine has to be exact to "earn" heaven. I may get into more about how that works for me in the future, or maybe not. But it does work for me and I have no dissonance but am full of God's peace about it.
p. 59 "In Catholic universities, a doctorate in theology is not referred to as a PhD but as an STD. Doctor of Sacred Theology. It's an unfortunate name for a degree. It must be hard for someone's mother to say, "I'm so proud of my little boy. He went to seminary and got an STD."
That made me laugh. It probably doesn't fit with why I'm discovering I want to become a Franciscan; but it reminds me of God's wonderful sense of humor and whimsey.
p. 67 "Everywhere I go, I meet people, old and young, from all over the world, and they tell me about their lives, their relationships, broken families, their addictions, shame, guilt, failures. You'll never be able to speak into their souls unless you speak the truth about your own wounds. You need to tell them what our Lord has come to mean to you in the midst of your disappointments and losses. All ministry begins at the ragged edges of our own pain. .... I'd never thought sharing my brokenness with people was an effective church growth technique.
I liked this because it mirrors my own life. I love my behind the scenes ministry of loving some of the world's most wonderful people who are going through hard times or non-traditional lifestyles and who are there to encourage me in my own hard times. I beam when I see them start to grow and trust God again after they grieve whatever loss (usually the loss of a dream) has happened to them. I love them discovering how their inner unknown areas propelled them into a relationship that would result in such devastation. I love what God has me doing and I'm grateful I have a venue to do it. I'm so content that I am reluctant to take the next step of writing a book about inner healing. But I trust God to lead me in His timing to do whatever He wills.
The challenge for me is to not give answers; but to be a compassionate listener and, when requested, tell my story; and, if not, to just listen and let them find their own answers. It's a learning process.
p. 67 "Do you know the story of Rabbi Zusya?" he asked. "He was a Chasidic master who lived in the 1700s. One day he said, "When I get to the heavenly court, God will not ask me 'Why weren't you Moses?' Rather he will ask me, 'Why were you not Zusya?'"
Whoa. I like that. For me the first step started about 1999 when I went to counseling and 12-step to start the process of figuring out who I was. I really had no idea. Between my counselor and my beloved 12-step sponsor (who I never met in person), they left enough bread crumbs in the path I was able to find myself. I like the quote by Oscar Wilde, ""Be yourself; everyone else is already taken."
Knowing who I am also means being responsible for my own stuff; allowing others the freedom to be responsible for their own stuff; and that frees me to have joy and peace. I LOVE my life.
p. 67 "Churches should be places where people come to hear the story of God and to tell their own. That's how we find out how the story of God and to tell their own. That's how we find out how the two relate. Tell your story with all of its shadows and fog, so people can understand their own. They want a leader who's authentic, someone trying to figure out how to follow the Lord Jesus in the joy and wreckage of life. They need you, not Moses."
I like that. Not much else to say except I give it two thumbs up!
p. 79 The word work in Hebrew is abad and it means 'to serve,' to be a servant to creation. The word for 'to take care of' is shamar. It implies watchful care and preservation. We allowed these texts to be twisted so that dominion became domination and stewardship became exploitation. The problem is, once you damage or break just one of the links in the Great Chain of Being, the whole is affected. Everything in the natural world is connected. If we destroy it, we destroy ourselves.
Wow. This has been quite a change for me. Historically, I'd practice ecology by not littering on the street; but that was about as deep as I understood the concept. I said I'd some day tell my story of how I decided to start learning to take care of this beautiful planet where God placed us.
On December 14, 2012, I had a gently surprising conversation. A week or before that date, I said I'm never alone because God is with me and if I don't want to talk to him, I could always talk to my viruses, E.Coli and bacteria that share this body or earth suit. I started to talk to the 39,000,000 Hepatitis C viruses that live inside me; I asked them one question: "Why are you destroying the earth suit that keeps you alive?" I had this reply (no it wasn't a verbal voice, just an inner knowing) "We learned it from you, human." Oh my goodness. Yes, us humans are destroying this earth, so it's not surprising it has gone through the chain and even viruses follow our example. I've been trying since then to be more gentle to this planet that I ride around this galaxy on... and maybe that is the secret to teach the inner viruses to stop destroying the earth suit we share.
I certainly don't do ecology perfect or even well yet. But I am learning. It is a start and I won't despise small beginnings. I think being a Franciscan will help me grow in that quest.
_________________
Today some family issues came up. I had my quarterly appointment with my MD to review my blood work. I chatted on the phone to friends. I messaged with my children's father. Unfortunately, I will only get one divine office done today. I will have to figure out how to better schedule these things. Tomorrow I'm back to work, so will need to see how to incorporate secular life with orders. I am not beating myself up over it; but I am putting a red flag so I will pay attention and better utilize my time so God isn't squeezed out.
Thursday 24 January 2013
Celebrating Rememberances of Dad
After a couple of weeks of re-processing the death and grief of my Dad's death, I wrote this Sunday night in celebration of the anniversary of his passing.
_____________________
At 10:15 am Central Standard Time, on Sunday, January 20, 1963, my Dad died. I was 12. My sister and I came home from Sunday School (he hadn't felt well enough to go to church - which was rare we didn't attend as a family); he hollered "Mama" and breathed his last. That was before dial phones in our town, so mom had me ring O for operator and she gets the doctor, the mortician and the pastor at our house. In 1957, Dad had underwent two experimental open heart surgeries for his rheumatic heart disease that added five and a half more years to his life. I remember hugging him and having to be careful where I hugged because they didn't get his ribs wired back together properly and if I'd squeeze in one place, the wire that held him together would puncture the skin from the inside and cause him pain. I remember the daily Quinine he took because of the malaria he got from tainted blood.
He was born in 1916 the next year John F. Kennedy was born; they died the same year (1963). I remember feeling sad there was so much national television about his death and burial. I thought my Dad was just as special and yet family showed up and the town stood behind us but no tv cameras or even radio announcers. Walter Cronkite didn't even mention Dad. Now I can be grateful we could grieve more naturally without having to put on the proper performance for the media.
Now from my advancing age and diminishing health, I can put his death into a different context and count my blessings. Knowing he was dying had catapulted him into what Father Richard Rohr would call the second half of life. The first half is building the container (material wealth, belongings, community, education, job, etc.) and the second half is letting go of those things because they aren't eternal; then filling the container we built in the first half of life with spiritual wealth that goes with us when we die. Dad was one of the most spiritual and holy men I knew/know. He came to faith on my birth day; when the doctors said his wife and unborn baby would die - he went to God. He told God that if God would let his wife and baby live that he'd find out who Jesus was and follow him. God answered that prayer and Dad was loyal to follow his vow.
I loved the bedtime ritual I grew up with. From as far back as I can remember until Dad went home to Jesus, I can't remember a day when Dad didn't read us a story about nature and talk about the goodness of God in the visible world. I love Psalms 19 because it is such a beautiful depiction of seeing God in the first Bible - the planet we live on. Then we'd read a Bible story and talk about it and how to apply it to our lives at a level we could understand. Then we'd all four kneel beside the bed and say our prayers. If we were camping, we'd lay under the stars and Dad would tell us their names and talk about how big God was to have created all of that and to maintain it.
Before his heart surgery, Dad left a letter and it was a reminder to love God and love each other and grow in faith so we could meet in heaven. I was 25 before I came to the conclusion that Jesus was the path for me. I remember the night before Dad went to the hospital that he prayed with tears and no words. As a parent, I stand amazed at his spiritual strength to have faced that time of walking out the door, leaving his children with his brother, sister-in-law and their daughters not knowing if he'd ever see us again but knowing the odds were great he would die in the surgery. I understand that in part because I feel that way each time I tell my two sons and nine precious grandchildren bye-bye and know it will be at least a year before I see them again.
Yet, like Dad, there is such a blessing of knowing this "earth suit" isn't going to last forever and to find ways to become a better friend of God with the limited health and resources I have. To wake up in the morning grateful and joyful for another day. To learn new ways to truly have great joy in the "dying before I die" - what Apostle Paul calls "dying to self." As I release the material things, the fame (or lack thereof), the goals, the ambitions, the relationship with my sons, and just sit with "what is" and remember the Bible says in Romans 8:28 "All things work together for good...." ALL things. ALL things. ALL things. My mind goes crazy wondering how some of the things that have happened in my life could possibly be part of that ALL things promise. Yet, I know each hard thing I go through, develops a greater trust in God and helps me grow as a person.
My two unborn babies and the second baby's daddy waiting in heaven, my Dad and four grandparents waiting for me, friends who have gone before are walking on streets of gold with party hats or halos on anticipating my homecoming.
I remember Grandmother always had a Bible by her "crochet chair" and would stop and read at times - even when we were there. I was such a brat she obviously needed the wisdom there to tolerate my few hours (just kidding - she had the patience of the saint she was/is). I've watched my mother over the past few decades move into the second half of life and spend time learning more of God. The times she'll feel almost angry at God that she is still here when her desire is to be in heaven with Him and her loved ones; and her wondering why life is that way then returning to acceptance of "what is".
Just like there is a spark of the flame of God's life that can be fanned to flame in each person; we each carry the seed of death - that Jesus said has to be planted, lay dormant, then becomes the bodily resurrection. Aaah, that gives such beautiful purpose to death. The death that will be swallowed up in victory.
I think of the parallels between death and birth. I remember at first wondering if I'd conceived and after so many weeks the doctor had me pee in a cup and a few days later I got the results (so different now). Then was the time of knowing but not feeling pregnant. Then the middle trimester when I knew I was pregnant and preparing for the big event. Then was the last trimester when I was uncomfortable and I'm sure my unborn babies were getting crowded and uncomfortable. Then was the labour and delivery and the joy of this new person laying on my tummy and crying. Death is similar. First is the not knowing where there are symptoms and you can't quite put your finger on what's wrong but you know something is. Then the middle trimester where you know and grow. Then the last trimester where the unknown and the known collide; where you do the heavy work of coming to acceptance (if it wasn't done prior to this later stage). Eventually hospice will be similar to labour. I remember praying before the boys were born that I wouldn't lose my dignity and scream or curse in pain - but as I got to that point, I really didn't care - the important part was giving birth. As my life ends, my prayer is dignity that I won't act foolish or let the pain or fear of pain do my talking or thinking. At the end, I'm born into eternal life with my new glorified body. Oh, what a wonderful example the loving Father left for us. Maybe women have it easier because of their experiences. Maybe that's why men go to war - to learn the lesson in a way that touches their male spirituality with the same lesson.
I love the story behind the hymn "It is well with my soul" by Horatio Spafford. ( a url with the story is http://www.biblestudycharts.com/A_Daily_Hymn.html ) I couldn't say it any better then this man did. It is well with my soul. Happy "what is." It's all joy: being alive on earth or fully alive in heaven is an amazing gift from Abba YHWH. Knowing things are destined to get better and better is such a consolation and comfort. I am in the path of total acceptance of what my Almighty Heavenly Father is doing in my life. My faith has never been stronger. My joy has never been more complete. Legalism has been left behind and I have moved to the freedom of being in Christ knowing Christ is in me and that's the Hope of Glory. "It is well with my soul." The "Happy what is...." It is more then well with my soul - all of me is full of joy. I think one night when I was sleeping, God pulled up with a 250 tonne Komatzu haulage truck full of joy and duped it on me. I have no logical reason to be so joyful but I can't stop having joy - I may have a few down hours each month (full and dark of moon) and then it's right back to being so joyful I could hardly sit still in church because I wanted to dance around holding my lovely Saviour and rejoice because I am "in Him" and He is "in me."
Today, on the 50th anniversary of Dad's homegoing. I celebrated his life, my expanding understanding of death, my joyful reprocessing of his passing over the past week or two, the beauty of the Eucharist, the communion of saints (those on earth and those in heaven) and my greater understanding of my future death and especially feeling the joy that Christ showed us how to live above life's situation while trusting God implicitly (not trusting Bible verses taken out of context but trusting the One I love and Who loves me so much He died to show me both how to live and how to die). With joy I celebrated eternal life today. With elation I celebrated Sophia, the wisdom of God. I am so very grateful for the beautiful gift of faith and a family heritage of faith that I have been blessed with.
It is well with my soul. Nah, It is JOYFUL with my soul.
_____________________
At 10:15 am Central Standard Time, on Sunday, January 20, 1963, my Dad died. I was 12. My sister and I came home from Sunday School (he hadn't felt well enough to go to church - which was rare we didn't attend as a family); he hollered "Mama" and breathed his last. That was before dial phones in our town, so mom had me ring O for operator and she gets the doctor, the mortician and the pastor at our house. In 1957, Dad had underwent two experimental open heart surgeries for his rheumatic heart disease that added five and a half more years to his life. I remember hugging him and having to be careful where I hugged because they didn't get his ribs wired back together properly and if I'd squeeze in one place, the wire that held him together would puncture the skin from the inside and cause him pain. I remember the daily Quinine he took because of the malaria he got from tainted blood.
He was born in 1916 the next year John F. Kennedy was born; they died the same year (1963). I remember feeling sad there was so much national television about his death and burial. I thought my Dad was just as special and yet family showed up and the town stood behind us but no tv cameras or even radio announcers. Walter Cronkite didn't even mention Dad. Now I can be grateful we could grieve more naturally without having to put on the proper performance for the media.
Now from my advancing age and diminishing health, I can put his death into a different context and count my blessings. Knowing he was dying had catapulted him into what Father Richard Rohr would call the second half of life. The first half is building the container (material wealth, belongings, community, education, job, etc.) and the second half is letting go of those things because they aren't eternal; then filling the container we built in the first half of life with spiritual wealth that goes with us when we die. Dad was one of the most spiritual and holy men I knew/know. He came to faith on my birth day; when the doctors said his wife and unborn baby would die - he went to God. He told God that if God would let his wife and baby live that he'd find out who Jesus was and follow him. God answered that prayer and Dad was loyal to follow his vow.
I loved the bedtime ritual I grew up with. From as far back as I can remember until Dad went home to Jesus, I can't remember a day when Dad didn't read us a story about nature and talk about the goodness of God in the visible world. I love Psalms 19 because it is such a beautiful depiction of seeing God in the first Bible - the planet we live on. Then we'd read a Bible story and talk about it and how to apply it to our lives at a level we could understand. Then we'd all four kneel beside the bed and say our prayers. If we were camping, we'd lay under the stars and Dad would tell us their names and talk about how big God was to have created all of that and to maintain it.
Before his heart surgery, Dad left a letter and it was a reminder to love God and love each other and grow in faith so we could meet in heaven. I was 25 before I came to the conclusion that Jesus was the path for me. I remember the night before Dad went to the hospital that he prayed with tears and no words. As a parent, I stand amazed at his spiritual strength to have faced that time of walking out the door, leaving his children with his brother, sister-in-law and their daughters not knowing if he'd ever see us again but knowing the odds were great he would die in the surgery. I understand that in part because I feel that way each time I tell my two sons and nine precious grandchildren bye-bye and know it will be at least a year before I see them again.
Yet, like Dad, there is such a blessing of knowing this "earth suit" isn't going to last forever and to find ways to become a better friend of God with the limited health and resources I have. To wake up in the morning grateful and joyful for another day. To learn new ways to truly have great joy in the "dying before I die" - what Apostle Paul calls "dying to self." As I release the material things, the fame (or lack thereof), the goals, the ambitions, the relationship with my sons, and just sit with "what is" and remember the Bible says in Romans 8:28 "All things work together for good...." ALL things. ALL things. ALL things. My mind goes crazy wondering how some of the things that have happened in my life could possibly be part of that ALL things promise. Yet, I know each hard thing I go through, develops a greater trust in God and helps me grow as a person.
My two unborn babies and the second baby's daddy waiting in heaven, my Dad and four grandparents waiting for me, friends who have gone before are walking on streets of gold with party hats or halos on anticipating my homecoming.
I remember Grandmother always had a Bible by her "crochet chair" and would stop and read at times - even when we were there. I was such a brat she obviously needed the wisdom there to tolerate my few hours (just kidding - she had the patience of the saint she was/is). I've watched my mother over the past few decades move into the second half of life and spend time learning more of God. The times she'll feel almost angry at God that she is still here when her desire is to be in heaven with Him and her loved ones; and her wondering why life is that way then returning to acceptance of "what is".
Just like there is a spark of the flame of God's life that can be fanned to flame in each person; we each carry the seed of death - that Jesus said has to be planted, lay dormant, then becomes the bodily resurrection. Aaah, that gives such beautiful purpose to death. The death that will be swallowed up in victory.
I think of the parallels between death and birth. I remember at first wondering if I'd conceived and after so many weeks the doctor had me pee in a cup and a few days later I got the results (so different now). Then was the time of knowing but not feeling pregnant. Then the middle trimester when I knew I was pregnant and preparing for the big event. Then was the last trimester when I was uncomfortable and I'm sure my unborn babies were getting crowded and uncomfortable. Then was the labour and delivery and the joy of this new person laying on my tummy and crying. Death is similar. First is the not knowing where there are symptoms and you can't quite put your finger on what's wrong but you know something is. Then the middle trimester where you know and grow. Then the last trimester where the unknown and the known collide; where you do the heavy work of coming to acceptance (if it wasn't done prior to this later stage). Eventually hospice will be similar to labour. I remember praying before the boys were born that I wouldn't lose my dignity and scream or curse in pain - but as I got to that point, I really didn't care - the important part was giving birth. As my life ends, my prayer is dignity that I won't act foolish or let the pain or fear of pain do my talking or thinking. At the end, I'm born into eternal life with my new glorified body. Oh, what a wonderful example the loving Father left for us. Maybe women have it easier because of their experiences. Maybe that's why men go to war - to learn the lesson in a way that touches their male spirituality with the same lesson.
I love the story behind the hymn "It is well with my soul" by Horatio Spafford. ( a url with the story is http://www.biblestudycharts.com/A_Daily_Hymn.html ) I couldn't say it any better then this man did. It is well with my soul. Happy "what is." It's all joy: being alive on earth or fully alive in heaven is an amazing gift from Abba YHWH. Knowing things are destined to get better and better is such a consolation and comfort. I am in the path of total acceptance of what my Almighty Heavenly Father is doing in my life. My faith has never been stronger. My joy has never been more complete. Legalism has been left behind and I have moved to the freedom of being in Christ knowing Christ is in me and that's the Hope of Glory. "It is well with my soul." The "Happy what is...." It is more then well with my soul - all of me is full of joy. I think one night when I was sleeping, God pulled up with a 250 tonne Komatzu haulage truck full of joy and duped it on me. I have no logical reason to be so joyful but I can't stop having joy - I may have a few down hours each month (full and dark of moon) and then it's right back to being so joyful I could hardly sit still in church because I wanted to dance around holding my lovely Saviour and rejoice because I am "in Him" and He is "in me."
Today, on the 50th anniversary of Dad's homegoing. I celebrated his life, my expanding understanding of death, my joyful reprocessing of his passing over the past week or two, the beauty of the Eucharist, the communion of saints (those on earth and those in heaven) and my greater understanding of my future death and especially feeling the joy that Christ showed us how to live above life's situation while trusting God implicitly (not trusting Bible verses taken out of context but trusting the One I love and Who loves me so much He died to show me both how to live and how to die). With joy I celebrated eternal life today. With elation I celebrated Sophia, the wisdom of God. I am so very grateful for the beautiful gift of faith and a family heritage of faith that I have been blessed with.
It is well with my soul. Nah, It is JOYFUL with my soul.
A Few Thoughts on Church History
As I did the audio version of the morning office, I noticed that most of the talking was by others and very little for the congregation. I remembered something my parish priest had said about most of Christianity having been during the centuries when only a few could read or write - and add to that the services were in Latin. He said they had no pews but the people walked around the church (usually shaped like a cross) and paintings, stations of the cross, the statues, and art would help them bring to mind what they learned during their catechism. I was wondering what it would have felt like to have loved God, been devoted to God and to have taken the time to show up when the bells ring and to love God in an atmosphere where you couldn't participate because you couldn't read or write or understand the language. What awesome men and women to have continued in the faith without the reinforcement modern and post-modern people have with education and media. But, I guess it was the only ball-park in town and most people didn't want burned as a heretic; so if that's accurate (I know so little of history), hopefully some or most of the people showed up out of devotion and love for God and God's love for them.
The Old Testament Tabernacle and later the Temple were quite ornate and yet only a few of the priests could enter the outer areas and only the high priest could enter the Holy of Holies and then only once a year. Yet the people were aware of the beauty and grandeur on the inside. Although a greater percentage of Hebrews could read and write then many other cultures, I'm sure they had their illiterate groups, too. Yet, each one had heard about the beauty and embellishment of the Holy Place and recognized their own reverence for the God who lived there.
I wonder how Christianity currently works for the illiterate masses in third world countries. I've seen photos of the elegant parades for Easter in Guatemala and how the people celebrate the annual event when the statues are removed from the churches and are carried down the street with ornate pictures on the roads created with flower petals that will be stomped and crushed by eager feet. That annual celebration must imprint very deeply on the minds and spirits of the people and help them stay focused on who God is and who they are to God.
How important it must have been for the masses to have had a rosary - a little piece of something to have helped them hang on to their faith during difficult or happy times and to have said the repetitive prayers they could memorize that brought them comfort and helped them remember the God they loved and served.
The chants of Sunday morning, although in a foreign tongue, probably rang in ears throughout the week and many people would have made up their own lyrics based on their own understanding of God.
I am so grateful to the Roman, Greek, Russian, Byzantine and Celtic churches who bore the beautiful burden of carrying Christ to the next generation over and over again until the printing press allowed people to purchase their own Bible and learn to read. There are probably many other groups I haven't heard of who did their part to keep the church alive. Maybe how they worshiped God back then doesn't make a lot of sense to my modern multi-media mind; but it did what it needed to do... it assured the gospel was kept alive. I can see God in it - even with errors and sin, it fits right in with today's church that is replete with error and sin. It gives me hope that God will continue to have a church even in this time of great changes.
Another thing I respect about the Catholic tradition is the acceptance of diversity. It seems each order (Franciscan, Benedictine, Dominican, Trappist, etc.) has a slightly different interpretation of scripture, of how to practice their religion, etc. Yet they put aside their differences to participate in the greater good of unity. I think that's a lesson that would be very useful in today's world.
Maybe that's what this writing was really all about. Can I be a Franciscan in a Benedictine Anglican parish?
_________________
I did the Invitatory Psalm, Office of Readings, Morning Prayer and preparing for Night Prayer. I missed the Evening Prayer. Even though doing most of the full divine office is new for me, it seems to add a purpose and rhythm to my life.
The Old Testament Tabernacle and later the Temple were quite ornate and yet only a few of the priests could enter the outer areas and only the high priest could enter the Holy of Holies and then only once a year. Yet the people were aware of the beauty and grandeur on the inside. Although a greater percentage of Hebrews could read and write then many other cultures, I'm sure they had their illiterate groups, too. Yet, each one had heard about the beauty and embellishment of the Holy Place and recognized their own reverence for the God who lived there.
I wonder how Christianity currently works for the illiterate masses in third world countries. I've seen photos of the elegant parades for Easter in Guatemala and how the people celebrate the annual event when the statues are removed from the churches and are carried down the street with ornate pictures on the roads created with flower petals that will be stomped and crushed by eager feet. That annual celebration must imprint very deeply on the minds and spirits of the people and help them stay focused on who God is and who they are to God.
How important it must have been for the masses to have had a rosary - a little piece of something to have helped them hang on to their faith during difficult or happy times and to have said the repetitive prayers they could memorize that brought them comfort and helped them remember the God they loved and served.
The chants of Sunday morning, although in a foreign tongue, probably rang in ears throughout the week and many people would have made up their own lyrics based on their own understanding of God.
I am so grateful to the Roman, Greek, Russian, Byzantine and Celtic churches who bore the beautiful burden of carrying Christ to the next generation over and over again until the printing press allowed people to purchase their own Bible and learn to read. There are probably many other groups I haven't heard of who did their part to keep the church alive. Maybe how they worshiped God back then doesn't make a lot of sense to my modern multi-media mind; but it did what it needed to do... it assured the gospel was kept alive. I can see God in it - even with errors and sin, it fits right in with today's church that is replete with error and sin. It gives me hope that God will continue to have a church even in this time of great changes.
Another thing I respect about the Catholic tradition is the acceptance of diversity. It seems each order (Franciscan, Benedictine, Dominican, Trappist, etc.) has a slightly different interpretation of scripture, of how to practice their religion, etc. Yet they put aside their differences to participate in the greater good of unity. I think that's a lesson that would be very useful in today's world.
Maybe that's what this writing was really all about. Can I be a Franciscan in a Benedictine Anglican parish?
_________________
I did the Invitatory Psalm, Office of Readings, Morning Prayer and preparing for Night Prayer. I missed the Evening Prayer. Even though doing most of the full divine office is new for me, it seems to add a purpose and rhythm to my life.
Wednesday 23 January 2013
"Chasing Francis: A Novel" by Ian Morgan Cron - Part 1
A Third Order Franciscan friend loaned me some books and information about becoming Franciscan. He suggested I start with the book "Chasing Francis: A Novel." He didn't say why, but he's a retired teacher and I figured there was some method to suggesting it or not. The book is out of print and will be reprinted in late spring.
I started the book today and Richard Rohr was mentioned in the first paragraph of the preface, so I was hooked from that moment. I quickly discover the main character, Chase Falson, is a evangelical pastor who is having a faith crisis. I could easily relate to that as I went through one several years ago. After Chase was asked to take a long walk off a short pier.... well, not really, just stay out of the church he built from scratch until he started believing and preaching exactly like he believed when he started the church. He heads to Italy to visit with the family's black sheep, a Baptist cousin he calls Uncle Kenny who became a Roman Catholic Franciscan.
Aaah, sounds like a similarity of moving from right wing religion to left wing.
I'll put a few quotes that landed in a spot that makes me want to mentally play with them and hopefully that will help me sort out my journey into becoming a Franciscan.
p. 16: “Following Jesus use to be so tidy. Every question had a logical answer. Every mystery had a rational explanation. The day I walked across the stage to pick up my seminary degree, I thought I had God pretty well figured out. Everything I believed was boxed, filed and housed on a shelf.”
That is what I went through. I desperately needed a tidy God who had a tidy system and no loose ends. Maybe because my childhood was untidy - not knowing when I'd wake up and discover they'd taken Dad to the hospital and Ms. Gudd would be babysitting me. I so much needed and wanted a predictable God; and God acted predictable for decades until He got me hooked on His magnificent love. Then I can say God tricked me; He made me fall in love with Him and then when my heart was captured if I don't love Him back it is like fire shut up in my bones (my paraphrase of Jeremiah 20:7-10). I couldn't stop loving God back any more then I could grow 5 inches taller. Clear down into my bones - loving Him is tied into who I am. If this was a different century, I'd probably be burned as a heretic when I say the following that is my truth, "The more I know God, the more I know me; the more I know me, the more I know God." I don't know how or why it works that way - or how long it will work that way but it amazes me and puts a different focus on my quest to know God more. Yet, it doesn't seem to be coming from the egocentric part of me, but from something deeper and more primitive - that same place I am blessed to sometimes touch in contemplation. Words can't describe it; but my heart knows where home is and that's my spiritual home. Maybe the dark night is the homing device functioning and not, as I once presumed, my spirituality malfunctioning?
p. 16: “Why do I have this sneaking suspicion I’ve been reading from a theological script someone else wrote? Is this my faith or one I bought into as a kid without really thinking about it? Why do I feel ashamed that I have doubts and questions about stuff?”
When I read that, I could relate. It also sounded like a prelude to what Richard Rohr would call the 2nd half of life. From the little I know about the mystical tradition, maybe this is a definition of the dark night of the soul? When reality and faith crash into each other and God doesn't pop out of the magic bottle like a genie with three answers - but trusted me to keep trusting Him even through the confusion and doubt were raging. When I started the faith crisis and I thought I needed answers and God was silent, I was mad. I was fearful. I was questioning. I wanted to quit but couldn't give up on God even though it felt like He'd given up on me. For me, there was a lot of shame because I felt God turned His back on me and I probably had unconfessed sin or life would have continued working according to what I had grown to expect. The old methodology no longer worked. God was doing a new thing and as far as I knew, He didn't give any warning that He was changing the rules. I can giggle about that now; but it was very real and very traumatic at the time.
Through that ordeal, I discovered the need and the method to release the "shame" of not knowing. I remembered a quote Rev. Marti Powell use to say, "If God wanted me perfect, He would have created me Diety; He chose to create me humanity." I don't have to have the answers. I don't even have to understand things enough to have questions. I don't HAVE to know. I don't HAVE to figure it out. When I accepted being human, all I want to do is the Great Commandment: "Love God and Love others." That made life so free and open. I don't have to decipher who is "worthy" of receiving God's love through me, I'm just called to love. I threw away the inner script of "How to be a Successful Christian" and started taking tottering, toddling baby steps toward love. Ah, heck, I don't even do that very good - but I'm not Deity so I'm okay with being a lousy lover.... but I'm headed in the right direction of wanting to love like Jesus loves. I can rejoice in the dissonance of knowing I'm a lousy lover and wanting to become a proficient lover - who doesn't judge but loves wholly, holy and with egalitarian generosity. As I take baby steps in that direction - life seems so much more spacious and free... spacious enough there is more room for others to grow in my heart without me feeling pressure to be other than who I am. My life is so full of joy and peace. I can't begin to put THAT miracle into words. Egocentric me having room in her heart for others? Hummm. Sounds fishy..... ;-) And the fish is a symbol of Christianity! Bring on the fishy-ness. ;-)
__________________
I did 4 of the daily office prayers and one Eucharist. I feel so well-fed by my Lord today. I find the BAS and BCP confusing for the office, so used www.divineoffice.org I found listening and reading plus the music helped me stay focused; I also liked the built-in times for contemplation.
I started the book today and Richard Rohr was mentioned in the first paragraph of the preface, so I was hooked from that moment. I quickly discover the main character, Chase Falson, is a evangelical pastor who is having a faith crisis. I could easily relate to that as I went through one several years ago. After Chase was asked to take a long walk off a short pier.... well, not really, just stay out of the church he built from scratch until he started believing and preaching exactly like he believed when he started the church. He heads to Italy to visit with the family's black sheep, a Baptist cousin he calls Uncle Kenny who became a Roman Catholic Franciscan.
Aaah, sounds like a similarity of moving from right wing religion to left wing.
I'll put a few quotes that landed in a spot that makes me want to mentally play with them and hopefully that will help me sort out my journey into becoming a Franciscan.
p. 8: “... the way I live my life falls sadly short of the way Francis lived
his. While writing this book I spent a lot of sleepless nights wondering what
it would mean to live the gospel as beautifully and radically as he did. I can
only pray that one day I will have the courage and madcap desire to follow Jesus
with such impractical abandon.”
They'd probably put me on anti-psychotic medications if I followed Jesus like Francis did. But I'd like to have the dedication, the joy, the boldness and courage that he showed in "Brother Sun, Sister Moon." Watching that last year sums up what I know about him - except for the cement garden statues which I presume he isn't.
p. 16: “Following Jesus use to be so tidy. Every question had a logical answer. Every mystery had a rational explanation. The day I walked across the stage to pick up my seminary degree, I thought I had God pretty well figured out. Everything I believed was boxed, filed and housed on a shelf.”
That is what I went through. I desperately needed a tidy God who had a tidy system and no loose ends. Maybe because my childhood was untidy - not knowing when I'd wake up and discover they'd taken Dad to the hospital and Ms. Gudd would be babysitting me. I so much needed and wanted a predictable God; and God acted predictable for decades until He got me hooked on His magnificent love. Then I can say God tricked me; He made me fall in love with Him and then when my heart was captured if I don't love Him back it is like fire shut up in my bones (my paraphrase of Jeremiah 20:7-10). I couldn't stop loving God back any more then I could grow 5 inches taller. Clear down into my bones - loving Him is tied into who I am. If this was a different century, I'd probably be burned as a heretic when I say the following that is my truth, "The more I know God, the more I know me; the more I know me, the more I know God." I don't know how or why it works that way - or how long it will work that way but it amazes me and puts a different focus on my quest to know God more. Yet, it doesn't seem to be coming from the egocentric part of me, but from something deeper and more primitive - that same place I am blessed to sometimes touch in contemplation. Words can't describe it; but my heart knows where home is and that's my spiritual home. Maybe the dark night is the homing device functioning and not, as I once presumed, my spirituality malfunctioning?
p. 16: “Why do I have this sneaking suspicion I’ve been reading from a theological script someone else wrote? Is this my faith or one I bought into as a kid without really thinking about it? Why do I feel ashamed that I have doubts and questions about stuff?”
When I read that, I could relate. It also sounded like a prelude to what Richard Rohr would call the 2nd half of life. From the little I know about the mystical tradition, maybe this is a definition of the dark night of the soul? When reality and faith crash into each other and God doesn't pop out of the magic bottle like a genie with three answers - but trusted me to keep trusting Him even through the confusion and doubt were raging. When I started the faith crisis and I thought I needed answers and God was silent, I was mad. I was fearful. I was questioning. I wanted to quit but couldn't give up on God even though it felt like He'd given up on me. For me, there was a lot of shame because I felt God turned His back on me and I probably had unconfessed sin or life would have continued working according to what I had grown to expect. The old methodology no longer worked. God was doing a new thing and as far as I knew, He didn't give any warning that He was changing the rules. I can giggle about that now; but it was very real and very traumatic at the time.
Through that ordeal, I discovered the need and the method to release the "shame" of not knowing. I remembered a quote Rev. Marti Powell use to say, "If God wanted me perfect, He would have created me Diety; He chose to create me humanity." I don't have to have the answers. I don't even have to understand things enough to have questions. I don't HAVE to know. I don't HAVE to figure it out. When I accepted being human, all I want to do is the Great Commandment: "Love God and Love others." That made life so free and open. I don't have to decipher who is "worthy" of receiving God's love through me, I'm just called to love. I threw away the inner script of "How to be a Successful Christian" and started taking tottering, toddling baby steps toward love. Ah, heck, I don't even do that very good - but I'm not Deity so I'm okay with being a lousy lover.... but I'm headed in the right direction of wanting to love like Jesus loves. I can rejoice in the dissonance of knowing I'm a lousy lover and wanting to become a proficient lover - who doesn't judge but loves wholly, holy and with egalitarian generosity. As I take baby steps in that direction - life seems so much more spacious and free... spacious enough there is more room for others to grow in my heart without me feeling pressure to be other than who I am. My life is so full of joy and peace. I can't begin to put THAT miracle into words. Egocentric me having room in her heart for others? Hummm. Sounds fishy..... ;-) And the fish is a symbol of Christianity! Bring on the fishy-ness. ;-)
p. 40, (Uncle Kenny talking and part of the conversation not included) "... a priest in the middle ages could have come to one of his superiors and shared... his disillusionment. ..... The Middle Ages were an age of transition, and people were fed up with the old way of following Jesus.
One of the things I love about being Anglican is having a spiritual director. I go to Father Gerald a few times a year and I feel loved, accepted, valued and heard - even when I spent my hour talking about all the spiritual things that are confusing and don't make sense. When I discuss my doubts. When I cry over what I feel God was unjust in allowing to happen. As he gives unconditional acceptance and gentle guidance, it helps me accept myself - doubts and all. The past two times my spiritual direction has centered more around how to get where I want to go and if he perceives that is a direction that I should be going and what pitfalls I might watch out for. I have a feeling that spiritual direction is becoming more of a "how do I go deeper in God" now that I've accepted that the spiritual walk includes a crust of dissonance layered over a symphony of joy layered over the utter stillness and quietude of God's peace.
p. 43 "Who said God's always rational?"
That quote caught me by surprise. My initial response was "Of course he's rational; he has to be systematically rational to hold all the electrons from flying off the protron/neutrons that hold everything together - to keep the planets in their solar systems and their galaxies. God has to be very rational to keep everything running smoothly. (Col 1.17)
But is there one thing rational about sending your son to become Incarnate and dying for humanity? That may have been the most expedient way, but rational? I'm not philosophically trained, but it plum don't make any common sense to me. It would seem the rational way would have been something magnificent that couldn't be doubted so all could believe. But a baby born in a cow's manger by a virgin mommy? A baby who grows into a man crucified between a good thief and an unrepentant thief? Yet it did show those who had ears to hear about the Incarnation: God in man, and man in God. God in me, and me in God. Yet, even many Christians don't believe that; at least about themselves - and the Incarnation is the main difference between Christianity and other world religions (at least that's what my learned friends teach and I trust them). As I start to unpack the Incarnation, it has erased the little fear I still harboured about death. It is starting to encourage me to more abundant life and to accept life on life's terms. It has given me joy. I wonder what other nuggets will appear as I unwrap that beautiful gift from my loving Abba YHWH.
If God was rational, then He'd keep giving us answers so people didn't have to go through the painful dark night of the soul; yet that irrational traumatic time is the precursor to such blessings that it should be a sacrament.... but becoming a sacrament would put it on our scheduled time frame rather then being the big surprise party from God.
p. 44-47 "Francis lived in the gap between two historical periods -- the Middle Ages and the pre-Renaissance (the opening days of modernity). We're living in the synapse between two moments in history as well -- modernity and post-modernity.".....In Francis's day the church was seen as hypocritical, untrustworthy and irrelevant. Some even wondered if it would survive. Clergy were at the center of all kinds of sexual scandals. It had commercialized Jesus, selling pardons, ecclesiastical offices, and relics. The laity felt used by the professional clergy as if they were there to serve the institution and not the other way around. The church had also become dangerously entangled in the world of power politics and war. Disillusionment with the church inspired many people to turn to astrologers and many other spiritualities. Greed ran riot in the culture. To top it all off, Christians were at war with Muslims. ..... (Francis did) the best way to overhaul something was to keep your mouth shut and simply do it better."
Being history naive, this was fascinating to me. It was like sitting around listening to Christians talk about the problems with the church or the occasional newscast I read.
Reading on the author says Francis eventually had 30,000 followers who chose the simple life of acting like Christ and may have single-handedly kept Christianity from becoming extinct. I'm not ambitious, I have no desire to start a new way of doing Christianity that will change the world - I'll leave that to young men like Shaine Claybourne. But it encourages me that Christianity, like the world at large, is on the bring of a new dawn. How exciting to live in these times.
__________________
I did 4 of the daily office prayers and one Eucharist. I feel so well-fed by my Lord today. I find the BAS and BCP confusing for the office, so used www.divineoffice.org I found listening and reading plus the music helped me stay focused; I also liked the built-in times for contemplation.
Tuesday 22 January 2013
Humbled by a First Day Fizzle
As I reviewed what I wrote yesterday, I read, "I want to develop a more intimate relationship with my God. I want to
learn how to grow in protecting and nurturing my planet as I learn how
God protects and nurtures me."
That is partially true. But I also pray God uses me to help others develop a more intimate relationship with Father and with themselves. I want to learn and grow how to better protect and nurture others in an interconnected and inter-dependent (not co-dependent) manner.
As for starting the journey into Franciscan spirituality, it didn't start with a bang, but with a fizzle. For several months I have been starting my day with the morning office from the BAS and have found that helpful. My next step was to add evening prayer and a set time for daily meditation/contemplation. I woke up a half hour before the alarm was due to ring, checked there was no snow to remove and realized I had a full hour instead of my traditional half hour. Instead of starting with the office, I decided to check e-mail... next I realized I had 40 minutes to shower, dress, eat, and drive the 12 minutes to work. Oops, no time for morning prayer.
The blessing for me is that I have learned not to beat myself up when I don't do what is best for me or follow my plan. God encourages me with a carrot going before me - like the column of smoke by day and fire by night in the Hebrew 40 year wilderness wanderings. That carrot is His wonderful love that doesn't keep track of my wrongs (if 1 Cor 13 is to be believed). Since I'm His beloved, He doesn't walk behind me with a stick. The biggest punishment or a better description of "missed blessing" is that I forfeited the wonderful intimacy of starting my day with my Lord and Treasure.
I'm so grateful when I get to heaven that Jesus is not going to ask me if I got my doctrine right or my performance flawless - I fully believe He is thrilled with me and with my progress. After all, it's the Holy Spirit who transforms me so I'm right on schedule.... His schedule for my life. How many millions of people never even think about Him and I often think about Him, talk to Him, listen to Him, have play-time with Him, dance with Him, and just set lovingly in His presence. I agree with Mike Bickle that God is thrilled with any small movement of my heart towards Him.
Tomorrow I will probably wake up while most of North and South America are still asleep which is one of the advantages of living in the Newfoundland time zone (GMT +3.5). I will have another chance to rub sleepy dreams from my eyes and spend time with my Treasure. And if I don't, I won't beat myself up. It is not by my works that I stand but by his love and grace. He is the Potter and I am the clay; and sometimes the lump is on the shelf and not being worked on the wheel.
Richard Rohr's books often mention that he prays that he has at least one opportunity a day to be humbled. Today my humbling came from two things:
(a) Realizing I can't earn God's favour and realizing how easily I forget that and get back into works. There is a part of me that is so achievement or win motivated that I want to get into that adrenaline rush of being a human DOing and earning something from God. I'd probably just earn a few giggles from God who knows His beloved daughter has a human DOing streak a mile wide; and then He would gently remind me that I'm a human BEing - in Him I live and move and have my BEing. Not of works least anyone may boast (as 'postle Paul says).
(b) From allowing my boss to send me home from work early because of snow and she could see how tired and weak I was feeling. It's humbling to recognize I don't have the energy I enjoyed 15 or 50 years ago. It's humbling to recognize that my best intentions and even self-promises don't always result in corresponding action. That's a good opportunity to remember not to judge myself on my intentions or to judge others on their actions.... it's a good time to not judge - not even judge myself.
I like the World English Dictionary's first definition of humble: "conscious of one's failing." It is important to me to walk in awareness and not live on autopilot. I'm humble enough to realize that this is an area where I have lots of room for improvement and I'm trusting that God put that awareness in me because He plans to gently modify that.
This also points to why I need the discipline and feedback of others to help me stay on track, to encourage me to grow, to care enough to gently remind me when I'm getting out of balance and off track. Without family nearby, that means I have to discover my own network of safe people to meet that need; and to possibly help them meet their needs. That is one thing I want to discover about becoming Franciscan; if that would broaden that needed support of giving and receiving into each others' spiritual lives.
That is partially true. But I also pray God uses me to help others develop a more intimate relationship with Father and with themselves. I want to learn and grow how to better protect and nurture others in an interconnected and inter-dependent (not co-dependent) manner.
As for starting the journey into Franciscan spirituality, it didn't start with a bang, but with a fizzle. For several months I have been starting my day with the morning office from the BAS and have found that helpful. My next step was to add evening prayer and a set time for daily meditation/contemplation. I woke up a half hour before the alarm was due to ring, checked there was no snow to remove and realized I had a full hour instead of my traditional half hour. Instead of starting with the office, I decided to check e-mail... next I realized I had 40 minutes to shower, dress, eat, and drive the 12 minutes to work. Oops, no time for morning prayer.
The blessing for me is that I have learned not to beat myself up when I don't do what is best for me or follow my plan. God encourages me with a carrot going before me - like the column of smoke by day and fire by night in the Hebrew 40 year wilderness wanderings. That carrot is His wonderful love that doesn't keep track of my wrongs (if 1 Cor 13 is to be believed). Since I'm His beloved, He doesn't walk behind me with a stick. The biggest punishment or a better description of "missed blessing" is that I forfeited the wonderful intimacy of starting my day with my Lord and Treasure.
I'm so grateful when I get to heaven that Jesus is not going to ask me if I got my doctrine right or my performance flawless - I fully believe He is thrilled with me and with my progress. After all, it's the Holy Spirit who transforms me so I'm right on schedule.... His schedule for my life. How many millions of people never even think about Him and I often think about Him, talk to Him, listen to Him, have play-time with Him, dance with Him, and just set lovingly in His presence. I agree with Mike Bickle that God is thrilled with any small movement of my heart towards Him.
Tomorrow I will probably wake up while most of North and South America are still asleep which is one of the advantages of living in the Newfoundland time zone (GMT +3.5). I will have another chance to rub sleepy dreams from my eyes and spend time with my Treasure. And if I don't, I won't beat myself up. It is not by my works that I stand but by his love and grace. He is the Potter and I am the clay; and sometimes the lump is on the shelf and not being worked on the wheel.
Richard Rohr's books often mention that he prays that he has at least one opportunity a day to be humbled. Today my humbling came from two things:
(a) Realizing I can't earn God's favour and realizing how easily I forget that and get back into works. There is a part of me that is so achievement or win motivated that I want to get into that adrenaline rush of being a human DOing and earning something from God. I'd probably just earn a few giggles from God who knows His beloved daughter has a human DOing streak a mile wide; and then He would gently remind me that I'm a human BEing - in Him I live and move and have my BEing. Not of works least anyone may boast (as 'postle Paul says).
(b) From allowing my boss to send me home from work early because of snow and she could see how tired and weak I was feeling. It's humbling to recognize I don't have the energy I enjoyed 15 or 50 years ago. It's humbling to recognize that my best intentions and even self-promises don't always result in corresponding action. That's a good opportunity to remember not to judge myself on my intentions or to judge others on their actions.... it's a good time to not judge - not even judge myself.
I like the World English Dictionary's first definition of humble: "conscious of one's failing." It is important to me to walk in awareness and not live on autopilot. I'm humble enough to realize that this is an area where I have lots of room for improvement and I'm trusting that God put that awareness in me because He plans to gently modify that.
This also points to why I need the discipline and feedback of others to help me stay on track, to encourage me to grow, to care enough to gently remind me when I'm getting out of balance and off track. Without family nearby, that means I have to discover my own network of safe people to meet that need; and to possibly help them meet their needs. That is one thing I want to discover about becoming Franciscan; if that would broaden that needed support of giving and receiving into each others' spiritual lives.
Monday 21 January 2013
Becoming Franciscian
January 21, 2013 -
I am starting this journal as a way to track my progress into possibly becoming a member of TSSF - Tertiary (Third Order) Society of St. Francis. Their web page is http://www.tssf.org This is not a calling to shave my head, put on a habit and join a nunnery; but a calling to live a deeper spiritual life in the world. I love the idea of learning to live simply - and the main place that needs to be worked out for me is living a simple life in my thoughts and then it will spill over into the busy-ness of daily life.... that means growing in the mystical or contemplative life that has been part of the Jewish-Christian tradition since the Kabbalah for certain and almost certainly prior. The term mystic is a more modern word replacing the Biblical word apokalypsis - or events that transformed a person to become more Christlike. It isn't magical but mystical - as humans we can't understand how God performs transformations within us; we just accept the truth of the unknown God working in us.
As I take this journey and learn more about becoming a Franciscian, I'm sure my motive and goals will change; in fact I hope I discover deeper motives and great growth through this new step of faith. I want to wrestle with new concepts and scriptures and grow and develop as I die to self and put on Christ. That's why I named this blog "Find Encouragement in Each Other's Faith" from Romans 1:12. I want to grow in not only my local circle of Christian friends, my local parish, my diocese, but to grow to become more aware of the worldwide church and the worldwide community and my part and affinity of that global community; I hope that my faith may encourage others' growth and greater participation in their relationship with God.
Part of me feels a bit awkward wanting to become a Franciscian since my local parish practices Benedictine spirituality and my spiritual director and example of spiritual maturity in many areas is my parish priest and rector, Fr. Gerald Westcott. I like the idea of Benedictine hospitality and I want to grow in the service of hospitality to others. Yet, my youngest son was named after Rev. Dr. Justin Der, who is a Roman Catholic Capuchin Franciscan and because of that, I feel an affinity for the Franciscan faith tradition. I have found a lot of growth through the teaching of Rev. Dr. Richard Rohr, who is Roman Catholic Franciscan - from my home state of Kansas. Yet there is a bigger part of me that finds nature a "thin place" where God's presence touches me with such depth and meaning; I want to develop that part of me, I want to develop a more intimate relationship with my God. I want to learn how to grow in protecting and nurturing my planet as I learn how God protects and nurtures me.... I think those will grow together. In a few days, I may share how God plopped that desire to grow in ecology within me and why it is important to me.
At the start, I have no idea where this journey and journal may take me. I may discover I am called to Franciscan spirituality. I may discover I am called to Benediction. I may discover I am called to no order. No matter what the outcome, I am very excited about the journey.... the journey is as precious as the destination - which is still a vague unknown at this phase of the journey. I may not even recognize the destination when I arrive - but I'm sure another adventure with God awaits when/if that happens. I can say, "It is well with my soul." Knowing, not knowing, wanting, striving, letting go - it is all good. I am blessed. I am loved.
I'd always equated the word "consolation" with booby prize - a joke award given to the worst performer. After reading the mystics, they often talk about the consolation of Christ. Now the term consolation has taken on a more accurate meaning; the meaning of being comforted. Yes, Christ is my comfort; thus my consolation. Some people may see me as His booby prize, but I know He sees me as His beloved.
I know one thing: God is holding my hand and we're headed on this new adventure together. If you could see me, you'd see a combination of peace, excitement and joy as I step into this next phase of my spiritual growth.
I am starting this journal as a way to track my progress into possibly becoming a member of TSSF - Tertiary (Third Order) Society of St. Francis. Their web page is http://www.tssf.org This is not a calling to shave my head, put on a habit and join a nunnery; but a calling to live a deeper spiritual life in the world. I love the idea of learning to live simply - and the main place that needs to be worked out for me is living a simple life in my thoughts and then it will spill over into the busy-ness of daily life.... that means growing in the mystical or contemplative life that has been part of the Jewish-Christian tradition since the Kabbalah for certain and almost certainly prior. The term mystic is a more modern word replacing the Biblical word apokalypsis - or events that transformed a person to become more Christlike. It isn't magical but mystical - as humans we can't understand how God performs transformations within us; we just accept the truth of the unknown God working in us.
As I take this journey and learn more about becoming a Franciscian, I'm sure my motive and goals will change; in fact I hope I discover deeper motives and great growth through this new step of faith. I want to wrestle with new concepts and scriptures and grow and develop as I die to self and put on Christ. That's why I named this blog "Find Encouragement in Each Other's Faith" from Romans 1:12. I want to grow in not only my local circle of Christian friends, my local parish, my diocese, but to grow to become more aware of the worldwide church and the worldwide community and my part and affinity of that global community; I hope that my faith may encourage others' growth and greater participation in their relationship with God.
Part of me feels a bit awkward wanting to become a Franciscian since my local parish practices Benedictine spirituality and my spiritual director and example of spiritual maturity in many areas is my parish priest and rector, Fr. Gerald Westcott. I like the idea of Benedictine hospitality and I want to grow in the service of hospitality to others. Yet, my youngest son was named after Rev. Dr. Justin Der, who is a Roman Catholic Capuchin Franciscan and because of that, I feel an affinity for the Franciscan faith tradition. I have found a lot of growth through the teaching of Rev. Dr. Richard Rohr, who is Roman Catholic Franciscan - from my home state of Kansas. Yet there is a bigger part of me that finds nature a "thin place" where God's presence touches me with such depth and meaning; I want to develop that part of me, I want to develop a more intimate relationship with my God. I want to learn how to grow in protecting and nurturing my planet as I learn how God protects and nurtures me.... I think those will grow together. In a few days, I may share how God plopped that desire to grow in ecology within me and why it is important to me.
At the start, I have no idea where this journey and journal may take me. I may discover I am called to Franciscan spirituality. I may discover I am called to Benediction. I may discover I am called to no order. No matter what the outcome, I am very excited about the journey.... the journey is as precious as the destination - which is still a vague unknown at this phase of the journey. I may not even recognize the destination when I arrive - but I'm sure another adventure with God awaits when/if that happens. I can say, "It is well with my soul." Knowing, not knowing, wanting, striving, letting go - it is all good. I am blessed. I am loved.
I'd always equated the word "consolation" with booby prize - a joke award given to the worst performer. After reading the mystics, they often talk about the consolation of Christ. Now the term consolation has taken on a more accurate meaning; the meaning of being comforted. Yes, Christ is my comfort; thus my consolation. Some people may see me as His booby prize, but I know He sees me as His beloved.
I know one thing: God is holding my hand and we're headed on this new adventure together. If you could see me, you'd see a combination of peace, excitement and joy as I step into this next phase of my spiritual growth.
Becoming Anglican
In 2009, I wrote an article that was published in Anglican Life and entitled "Becoming Anglican." A copy of that article is below:
Becoming Anglican
By Debbie Kaba
Rev. Joe Burton, retired United Church pastor, has
observed my transition from non-denominational, charismatic holy roller to
Anglican wannabe and suggested I use the writing skills God has blessed me with
to reflect on this. He reminded me that during the 70s, many people migrated
from mainline denominations to non-denominational churches; during this current
decade God is calling many people back. This article depicts a small part of my
personal journey. My prayer is that my words may build bridges of understanding
and acceptance within the Christian community.
I didn’t push open
the heavy, glass door because Father Westcott was already opening it as he
offered me a big smile, a handshake, a hug and what seemed like sincere joy
that I was there. After talking to me a
few minutes, he asked one of the women to show me around. Having arrived early, I sat quietly in the
beautiful oratory experiencing the solitude yet feeling a bit of discomfort at
the strange surroundings. A couple moved
into the pew behind me and after prayer, introduced themselves. When I told them this was my first time in an
Anglican church; they moved beside me and offered to help me find my place in
the printed liturgy hand-out. The first several weeks, Ruth and Bill Wells, took
this charge seriously and greeted me, sat by me, helped me find my place in the
liturgy hand-out, encouraged me and answered question after question. The gift
of their time and attention may have felt like a minor thing to them; but it
was major for me. The liturgy is now on multimedia presentation so newcomers
don’t need so much hands-on training. After each liturgy, people came up, shook
my hand, looked me in the face and showed a sincere interest in me. From the
very first day, I felt valued as a person and at home in the parish. I felt loved,
accepted and not recruited. I wanted more of that acceptance and love; not only
because it made me feel good; but I wanted to learn by example how to give God’s
love to others.
When I first felt
God leading me from a charismatic church to Parish of the Resurrection, I
wondered how I’d ever adapt to the rituals of the liturgy. Would I always feel
lost and needing others to help me find my place on the hand-out? Would the
liturgy move from the hand-out to heart-felt? Would I become bored? How long would I sense God after the weekly
routine became familiar? Would my
spirituality dry up and die? Would I feel I had a niche in the liturgical church
community or would I feel like a round peg in a square hole? Could they accept
some of my “weirdness” and awkwardness as I adapted? Could they accept any
“weirdness” if there were areas where I couldn’t adapt? Could I accept their
opinions, rituals and beliefs? Would my change to Anglican cause me to lose my
friends from the charismatic church? After two years of being active in the parish,
I can only say God is doing a miracle. God feels more alive in my heart and I
believe He’s growing my faith to new heights through the Anglican Church and
the liturgy.
At times I felt
like a preschooler because most of my conversations started with “Why?” But
each patiently supplied answer deepened my understanding of the Anglican
experience. As I grasped the elementary elements of the liturgy, I had the
choice to observe by rote or discover ways to participate with intentionality. Below are several of the answers to my
questions that enriched my experience of the liturgy:
One of my first
questions was “Why do people touch the baptismal water?” I was told it was a
way to renew and recommit to our baptismal vows. Of course, I needed to ask what vows. I’d heard of the Apostle’s Creed so I looked
it up on the Internet and printed it out. I loved the words and read them
several times a week so when I’d touch the water, I realized my act of recommitment
when I would pray for a greater faith to believe the creed and to have it
actively growing and working in my life.
This is now one way I intentionally prepare my heart to receive the
graces of the liturgy. As I touch the water and cross my forehead with it, I am
also declaring myself God’s own as is done during baptism. Touching the water when
leaving the oratory reminds me that my “service” does not end when the liturgy
is complete but through the liturgy, my service to God and to others is
refreshed, renewed and ready to begin again with new vigor. I have attended
liturgy in Anglican parishes that do not have an open font; however, when I see
the font, it is my signal to mentally recommit and renew my baptismal vows and
to choose to intentionally participate in my spiritual journey.
Why do people cross
themselves? It reminds me that God the Father, God the Son and God the Holy
Spirit live within me. Seeing others cross themselves reminds me God lives in them.
Together, we are recognizing and declaring that marvelous, life-changing truth
of God in us. This helps me remember that even when I do not agree with others,
that the same God who lives in me lives in them. It is an opportunity for me to
forgive others and to repent if I’ve held wrong attitudes or uncomely behavior towards
others.
Why is the same
prayer offered for each person? Examples are the same prayer spoken for
healing, for baptism, for catechism, Holy Spirit weekend of Alpha or during
laying on of hands at a Cursillo weekend. I find the reason of uniform prayers most
comforting: God doesn’t have favorites – He loves all His children the same.
Receiving the same prayer is a deep reminder of God’s uniform love and
acceptance. It surprised me when I felt an extravagant and personal blessing when
being a recipient of a uniform prayer. I have discovered that even though
uniform, the prayers work and the people receive from the Father.
Can the gifts of
the Spirit (1 Corinthians 12) operate in a structured format? I have found the
gifts do operate in manifold but low-key ways. I have to pay attention to notice;
which is a good thing as it helps me intentionally seek to be mentally and
spiritually present during liturgy, in my walk with God and in my walk with
others. Through the homily (sermon), through prayers offered, and mostly during
fellowship when a friend will say something and I realize their words are a
gift of the Spirit sent from the heart of God to me personally. It’s low key,
no hype, no drama, no pressure, freely offered and freely received. No glory to
the giver; no glory to the receiver; but all glory to the Holy One from whom
all blessings flow. For me, these low-key spiritual gifts are a love-filled and
an awesome testimony of God’s power to move on His children’s behalf.
Why do many people
make the sign of the cross on their forehead, lips and heart during the prayer
before the reading of the gospel? Psalms 19:14 says, “Let the words of my mouth, and the
meditation of my
heart, be acceptable in thy sight, O Lord.” As I
make this age-old sign, I ask God to help me be intentional in my listening and
throughout the coming week to grant the gospel read will be in my mind, in my
mouth and in my heart. It not only helps me prepare to receive God’s holy Word,
it reminds me to be intentional in my listening – to put other thoughts aside
and, like Mary of Bethany, listen raptly to the Words of the Saviour.
Why do we stand a
long time during the liturgy? The comfortable chairs in our parish are
certainly an incentive to come to church, to sit and enjoy God’s feast. When I
want to sit, I remind myself it is permissible to sit; however, if I’m a bit
uncomfortable for a few minutes, I can use that time to recognize the tiny bit
of discomfort I go through is naught when compared with what my Lord willingly suffered
on our behalf. Identifying with His passion and compassion helps me to grow in
empathy and understanding of the Lord and of others, especially the persecuted
church or those who live with chronic pain.
Why do priests and
deacons wear collars? It is based on 1
Timothy 6:1, “All who are slaves under a yoke should show full respect to their
masters so no one will speak against God's name and our teaching.” The priest or deacon says a prayer as he/she
dons the collar (symbol of a yoke) as a recommitment of their ordination vows
and faithfulness to God and to their parish.
When I see the collar, I sometimes say an intentional short thank-you to
God for giving leaders who are willing to submit to God’s authority and to be
an example of Christian love and service; I also pray to help the leaders grow
in their love of God, submission to God and to have the grace to fulfill their
ordination charge. I would imagine the
physical collar is somewhat uncomfortable; and maybe that is part of the way
priests are reminded their calling is not for comfort but for service to the
point of personal discomfort; just as Christ served to a point of not only
extreme pain but death.
Why do we call my
priest father? He gave me a textbook
definition including how it helps remind him of his responsibility to his
parishioners. The day he called me into his office to gently discuss an
immature behavior I could replace with a more holy and mature behavior – the
term father made sense. As the church’s rector and my pastor, he was showing
not only Christ’s love and acceptance for me, but also, like a father, he was willing
to step out of his comfort zone to encourage me to maturity and not to be a disruptive
brat but a productive member of our local church family. I am deeply grateful
for the “father” role of discipline my priest has shown to me. Without his
feedback, I could have continued being a brat for months or years before natural
consequences showed me it was time to grow in that area.
As I walk to
receive the Eucharist, I view the beautiful and artistic stained glass window of
Christ on the cross. This visual reminder shows part of what my Lord went
through during His passion. I love when the line seems long and I have more
time to think on Christ’s mystery and Trinitarian love (Great Commandment). I am often teary-eyed as I hear the priest
say, “The body of Christ” and he places the Bread of Life in my upraised hands.
Out of respect
for others, I seldom participate in the common cup since I have a chronic communicable
disease. But when I participate, the
bitterness of the wine reminds me of the bitterness of the Saviour’s life and
His overcoming power. The bitter wine contrasts to the sweet bread – just as
our lives have times of sweet joy and peace but also times of bitter inner strife
and pain. Yet, through each season of life, bitter or sweet, Christ is
intimately involved waiting for us to turn to Him.
As I turn towards
my seat, I see a statue of the resurrected Christ. My heart fills with joy at
the reminder that the Master’s resurrection from the dead gives me hope of my
own future resurrection. A mini-Easter celebration
consumes my heart as I think on this mystery.
As I return to my
seat, I once again turn towards the Eucharistic table and give a small nod or
bow to Christ. I find this small act of huge spiritual significance. Just as
I’d respectfully curtsy to the Queen of England, I show honor to my soon-coming
King of Kings.
Although I turned
my back on Him to return to my seat, I have security that we live in full
relationship. I am reminded when my behavior and sins look like I have turned
my back on Him – that He will always welcome me, His sometimes prodigal
daughter, back into full relationship with Him. By the time I sit in my seat,
my heart is usually overflowing in gratitude and thanksgiving for our Lord.
Those three titles: Saviour, Master, King of Kings, are usually my meditations
preparing for the group contemplation on Trinitarian love after communion.
In the
after-Eucharist silence, I often sit in the position I use during Lectio Divina
with my palms up as a reminder to myself that all I am and have belongs to and
comes from God, and my hand is open to receive all He desires to give to me.
Sometimes during
The Great Feast, I meditate on the scripture, “Taste and see that the Lord is
good.” I pray that the taste of the Eucharist will open a deeper hunger for
more of the spiritual life, for more of Christ, for more of the Word, to be
more Christ-like. Sometimes I pray that
for me personally and, at times, for the gathered or worldwide church community.
Why do we have a
special posture for our hands when receiving the Eucharist? We hold our hands in a cross position (right hand
on top) as a reminder that Christ died on a cross for us. It’s a reminder to me
that we are told to pick up our cross daily to follow Him. (Luke 9:23) The
right hand on top is a reminder to me that Christ now sits at the Father’s
right hand. (Mark 14:62)
Why do some
people raise their crossed hands slightly as they receive the Body of Christ?
To me, it is a reminder of our role in personal evangelism: “if I be lifted up
from the earth, I will draw all men unto me.” (John 12:32) Sometimes this leads
me to meditate on how I can intentionally put aside my human selfishness and
love others with Trinitarian love to draw them to the Saviour.
Why are the remains
of the consecrated bread covered while the common cup is being passed during
mid-week Eucharist? I was told it depicts the holiness and honor of having
Christ among us: another small gesture with a rich potential to see more of
Christ in the liturgy. A time I can
reflect on how I can better exhibit Christ in me and see Christ in others –
Christ covered with human flesh – the bread covered with the purificator.
Why is the
oratory seating in the round? Because the early church met in homes so chances
are they didn’t set in rows looking at the back of each other’s heads. The
oratory space in Parish of the Resurrection has profound meaning for me,
especially during participation of the liturgy. I love making eye contact with
others and often pray for them as God draws my eyes their way. As I observe
others participate in the liturgy, it has a synergistic effect of augmenting my
participation and making it feel even more alive and real. I’ve discovered I’m
not the only one who may have tears in their eyes after the communion feast;
and even without words spoken, tear-sharing is a bonding experience.
Except during
liturgy, why does the wooden cross lay on the floor in the center of the
oratory during ordinary time? This reminds us of Christ among us. God Most High
came to earth in a human form to walk among us and lead us to our Father. When I see the cross lying there, I not only
feel heartfelt gratitude, but I want to lie on the floor beside it, look up at
imaginary clouds or stars on the ceiling and chat with my Lord about everything
and anything. Although I’m not bold enough to plop myself on the carpet, it
does encourage me to share more and more of my life, especially my inner life,
with my Saviour and to trust Him to guide me on the journey home to Him.
The first time I
walked into the oratory my preconceived prejudices were intact. I presumed the
liturgy would be a routine presentation, a performance by the clergy that might
give a little inspiration and encouragement to the laity. I was genuinely amazed
that was not what happened during liturgy and my prejudices fell away. With a
little education the liturgy became extremely personal, participatory and not
only connects me closer to God, to other participants but to the universal
church. I’m finding most of the rhythms of the liturgical year build upon
growth from the previous year causing intentional participation to become
deeper and sweeter. I can’t imagine the spiritual richness of liturgical worship
experienced by people who have celebrated the liturgy with intentionality for
decades. I feel gratitude for my new, liturgical journey. Through the liturgy,
I have tasted new and succulent flavors of Christ and continue to see Him in fresh
and deeper ways.
My next step of
the journey: I hope to become a member
of the Anglican Church when Bishop Cy visits the parish. NOTE: I became Anglican the following spring.
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