I am going to miss it...

I have been going to church nearly every day lately.  But now there won't be another service until 7pm on Thursday.

I am counting the hours.

sweet confession

I confess to you and your tenderness holds me.  You draw me close.  Your heart seeps into mine, turning the coldness and dark into warm light.

Jesus.  How sweetly you call.  How gentle is your spirit.  Even now, in the midst of this week of betrayal and pain, suffering and fear, you are gentle, oh lover of souls.  Oh, love.  You are sweet.  You reconcile us to yourself and ever hold open your arms.

Forgive me.

I love you.

Palms

I am going to bring a little palm cross to work.  The cross was made by one of the many favorite teens from Grace Church with a palm from our Palm Sunday service.  I will put it up discretely so the clients who come into the center won't be confronted with it... but I am planning to put it where I can see it.

I love Palm Sunday.  I love all of Holy Week, actually.  The entire journey from Jesus riding into Jerusalem on a borrowed colt to Easter Sunday, complete with fancy dresses and decorated hats.  What goes on between those two moments is grueling, gripping, painful and incredible.  It is a week of coming face to face with sin.  It is a week when I have to acknowledge that I am one of those who waves palms joyfully one minute and then cries ''Crucify Him" to Pilate in the next.  Because it IS our sin that nails him to the cross.

I know that some of my evangelical friends are uncomfortable with the intensity around Holy Week.  Is it idolatry to put palms on your wall?  Is it really necessary to relive every moment of the crucifixion every year, sitting in a somber and quiet church reflecting on the 7 last things Christ said from the cross for 3 solid hours?  Or creeping towards a wooden crucifix and kissing the feet of him who is represented there?

For me, there is no controversy or conflict.  These rituals came from a church that did not yet have ready access to scripture for the masses.  These rituals were a way for everyday folks to physically, mentally and spiritually engage with the story long before Gutenberg invented his press.  And even now, for someone with no less than 6 copies of scripture in 4 translations, the physical act of standing and waving palms, or of kissing the feet of a crucifix gives the story an immediacy that just reading could not.  Those wooden feet are not HIS.  But these lips are mine....  And we are whole beings.  The physical is part of our faith.

So, the cross is going up.  The rest of the palms will be tucked somewhere in my home, to dry and wilt until I bring them to church to be burned for next year's Ash Wednesday service.  And I will pray that Christ will use this Holy Week to draw me closer to him.  And to glorify himself in the process.

Psalm 51:3

Hatin'

I am facebook friends with a kid my son's age.  Quite a bit of what he posts is hate-filled rhetoric against the church.

And I have to wonder, where does a kid learn to hate like that?  It makes me sad to think that his parents are encouraging that kind of prejudice.  It makes me sadder still to think that this boy is going to attempt to go through life with nothing but anger towards God.

I had a snarky attitude towards Christians growing up.  I spent years hating.  And suffering.

I pray for this kid.  I pray that his hatred doesn't win.

Surrender

I told my priest today that I felt like I have done a crappy job of Lent this year.  I just don't feel like I have paid enough attention to it.  Haven't felt penitential enough.  Have started the headlong slide into Holy Week altogether too fast.

He gently suggested that as Lent is a time of transformation, perhaps it has been powerfully effective, whether I feel like I am doing it right or not.  

My work is transforming.  We had a fire just before Ash Wednesday and have been spending our collective Lent trying to emerge from the ashes, reinventing our ministry and ourselves in the process.  It has been both joyful and brutal.  We, all of us, are the walking wounded.  But still maintain a sense of optimism and hope.  We see God at work and are so very grateful.  We are lifted by prayer and offers of help.  But we are exhausted, too.  Starting over is exhausting.

At the same time, I have been undergoing a major spiritual shift.  Something changed during my retreat last fall.  I have been attending church several times a week, reading scripture daily, thirsting for Jesus in a new way.  My heart is filled with peace and joy.  An indescribable delight.

And God has been giving me signs and wonders. He has given me companions on the path.  He has sweetly led the way and I have willingly followed.

But tonight, I am tired.  So very very tired.

drawing closer

Jesus, you are inviting me ever closer.  You are whispering in my ear.  Leaning in close.  Your sacred heart is  on fire for me... and mine is for you.

I trust you.  I believe you.  I am following.  Lead on....

Fear not

Much shifting is taking place for me, lately.  I have been on a spiritual roller coaster ride since my retreat in November.  But God has been giving me many graces and consolations, including a thirst for the scriptures that has been a great blessing.  He is speaking to me through his word, through liturgy, through sacraments and in meditation.

I have been going to church several times a week.  It has been a respite in the midst of everything.  On days that I don't go, I feel like something is missing.  Blessed are you, sweet King.  I am so grateful for all that is unfolding, even when I am afraid or sad.  You whisper to me

"trust me."

"don't be afraid."

"trust me."

And I think I do, deep down inside.  I think I do.

God is Love in the New York Times

My husband and I have an ongoing conversation about the New York Times.  I contend that it is editorially anti-religious.  He regularly shares opinion pieces that contradict that claim. (I respond that the odd opinion piece doesn't change the fact that the editors, on the whole, are anti-religious.  But that isn't really the point of this post...)

So it was this morning.  Nguyen showed me two opinion pieces that any Christian would appreciate.  The first was a guest piece in Maureen Dowd's column.  She invited a priest friend to write about the nature of suffering and death and God's role in it.  It is a beautiful column.

http://www.nytimes.com/2012/12/26/opinion/dowd-why-god.html?smid=pl-share

The second ran in the paper on Christmas Eve about a physics teacher who takes one class period per year to discuss some of the bigger issues of life that the study of physics doesn't address.  What is the meaning of all of this?  Why are we here?  His answer is humble.  It is about love.  To illustrate his point, he shares with his class about his disabled son and his son's ability to communicate love regardless of his inability to speak.  

http://well.blogs.nytimes.com/2012/12/24/laws-of-physics-cant-trump-the-bonds-of-love/?smid=pl-share

So what do these two love-filled columns have in common?  

The vitriol and anger with which they were received by the readers of the Times.  


This comment is from the essay about God's role in suffering:

I guess you haven't noticed, there is no god.
Believing in one is no different from believing in Santa, or the tooth fairy.
They are psychological construction of the mind, to bring comfort in distress, nothing more than that and nothing less.

About the physics teacher, T of London wrote:

This is religious indoctrination in disguise. Love is a physical phenomenon, a direct result of evolution and not some magical force of the universe. The universe doesn’t care about us, and our emotions are all tools evolved to enhance our probability of survival. A shame that a physics teacher doesn’t understand what he teaches and chooses to bring into the classroom a dose of good old, irrational, misguided and factually wrong sermoning.

Apparently we are no longer even allowed to discuss emotions, never mind faith.  Love is now the enemy. Love must be reduced to a chemical reaction and nothing more... and if you believe there is even a tiny bit of mystery to it, you have gone off into the realm of dangerous mythology.  

For all you garden variety atheists and agnostics who still believe in the power of man's goodness, beware.  Pretty soon you, too, will be villified in the public square for believing in something as irrational as kindness or love.

The snarky sarcasm that runs through the responses to both columns might be enough to scare anyone from writing about love or faith in the Times.  I hope and pray that will not be the case.  It takes courage to speak about faith, these days.  And I pray that the haters will not be so loud that they silence those who speak love.

Advent vs. Christmas smackdown

Ok, the truth is I have never been that good at Christmas.  And when I say Christmas, I really mean the XmasHolidayBlueLightSpecialSuperDiscountEverythingONSALENOW cavalcade that is Christmas in America.  Even before becoming a Christian, the Christmas season was, for me, a challenge to my wait til the  last minute then rush around like a maniac vibe.

But since becoming a Jesus Freak, Christmas has been way MORE of a challenge.  I mean, here we are in Advent, a season of penitence, self reflection, meditation, and yes, I will say it, darkness.  For those of us in the liturgical tradition, it isn't even proper to sing a Christmas carol until Christmas Eve.  This is a time for preparing, not in the 'gotta get a tree and decorate it' sense, but in the far more spiritual sense.  If Jesus came back TODAY, am I ready? The gospel readings have all been about being ready, spiritually, to meet our maker.  These are strident John the Baptist readings.  Get it together, people.  Don't stand around waiting until it is too late.  NOW is the time to repent and change your ways.  John pulled no punches, then or now.

For me, this year has been a delicious Advent.  I have spent time in deep reflection.  I have been grappling and letting go.  Jesus has been calling to me.  Unlike his cousin John, his is not a strident voice, but a gentle one.  He isn't demanding anything, but inviting me, ever so quietly, to trust him.  Trust him.  Which is, perhaps, the hardest thing any Christian can do.

I have been reading scripture.  Like a thirst that only the word of God can quench.  Every day I wake up and  sit at my dining room table and start my day in the word.  And it is delicious.

And I have been going to church.  Lots of church.  Weekdays and Saturdays and Sunday.  Quiet, rhythmic, freezing cold, or bright and vibrant and filled with beautiful music.  Sitting and letting the presence of Our Lord wash over me.  

And I have been reading Teresa of Avila and a book about the Exercises of St. Ignatius and the Desert Fathers and St. Ignatius of Antioch and a whole bunch of other really amazing Christians. (The letters of Ignatius of Antioch were written while he was being taken to Rome to die in the Colosseum.  Which makes me cry to think of it.)

And meditating on The Virgin.  

And none of this helps me to prepare for the Big Day, which for us stretches from church on Christmas Eve until the last moment of collapse from exhaustion on Christmas night.  

Because maybe the Big Day is actually already starting to happen in my heart.  

Blessed Advent.  You win.

Time is running out!

Every day in my email inbox I receive frantic emails from retailers trying to get me off my Advent duff and start shopping in earnest.  Last Chance!  Don't miss out!  Time is running out!!!!!

But this year, Advent is another time in another country.  My heart and head are about love.  About preparing myself and my family for the celebration of Christmas and, indeed, the second coming.  Our house is yet bare.  We haven't bought a tree... and maybe won't until Christmas Eve.  We are embracing the beauty and slightly bittersweet sense of anticipation.

I love the Gospel readings that go with this time of year.  Tomorrow we learn of John, the voice of one crying out in the wilderness.

I am crying out to you, Lord.  I lift my voice with countless others and cry to you, Come, Emmanuel, Come.

For in a strange way, time really IS running out.  We must always be prepared for Him.

Hurry, slow, go, stop, go

Shifting taking place, and as things get clear, my normal response is to plow ahead, headlong.  But these things take time, don't they?  Like a marriage, there is a long engagement time.  Partly that is for planning for the wedding.  But partly it is to get used to the new reality that once those vows are spoken, you are transformed.  You are different.  You will never be single again.

So it seems to be with all spiritual landmarks.

Advent

This is such a Holy and mysterious time in the church year.   The gospel reading today was apocalyptic.   Christ says that people will literally die of fright when the end is near.

This morning happened to be the day for healing prayer at Grace Church.  Every month, on the first Sunday, our little team of prayer warriors head over to the Messiah chapel with our anointing oil and pray for folks who come after they have taken communion.  Most months we get one or two folks.  Some months we haven't had any.  Today, we had a line.  So much fear, sadness, despair, pain.  It was unusual to have so many in need of prayer.  I wonder if the beginning of Advent has brought things to the surface.  I know it has for me.  I have found myself very close to God lately.  Which by definition is a very vulnerable place indeed.

Standing on the banks

When I first became a Christian, I remember the point when I was about to take communion in the Anglo-Catholic church for the first time.  There was a sense that I was standing on the banks of a river and to dip my toe in was to enter the stream of the church, which was at once history and present for thousands of years.  I could see my friends Peter and the apostles.  I could see the dusty, cold, wet monasteries, the huge cathedrals and the tiny home churches.  Candles and incense and the voices of the faithful singing to God, HOLY HOLY HOLY.  Perhaps I could even see the liturgy happening in Heaven at that very moment, beautiful and terrifying and full of LOVE as it is described in the scriptures, with the angels and saints falling down before his throne.  I remember knowing that once I dipped my toe into the stream, there was no turning back.  I would, forever more, be a tiny part of a magnificent stream of Christendom, which has existed for centuries, forever, and right this very moment.

And so, I stand on the banks, having dipped my toes for years.  Wondering if it is time to dive in head first.

Diving into the Word

For a couple of months now I have been doing a 'read the bible in a year' daily reading plan.  When I started, I decided to go ahead and pick up where I was.  At first, I was doing this on my Kindle, but lately I bought a new, larger print, ESV and have been doing my daily readings there.  This allows me to make notes in the margins and underline things that pop out at me.  I know in a few years, this beautiful bible will be tatty and covered with chicken scratch.

One interesting side effect of my weekend of silence is that I am incredibly thirsty for the scriptures.  I have been reading quite a bit more than the standard daily plan... at least 2 or 3 chapters of the Hebrew scriptures, 1 or 2 of the New Testament, a psalm... and then some third book from Paul's letters.  So today, for example, I read 2 chapters of Daniel, psalm 126, a chapter of Revelation and 2 chapters from Paul's first letter to Timothy.  One great side effect of reading this way is that I am beginning to see themes emerge.  I noticed, for example, that the exact same phrase occurred in Daniel and Revelation.. that the people had gone astray by worshiping the idols of gold and silver, wood and stone.  If I hadn't read them on the same day, I might not have noticed the connection.

It is interesting to me that even as I am feeling drawn more deeply into liturgy, at the same time, I am being drawn more deeply into scripture.  For me, the supposed distinction between the two is a false dichotomy.  The actual word dichotomy implies that something is split into two parts that cannot overlap and are mutually exclusive.  My sense is that there is nothing BUT overlap.  They are two parts that weave into each other and are complimented by each other.

What is God asking me to do?

As I reread yesterday's post, I was struck by the simple question my spiritual director at the retreat asked.

-What is God asking you to do?

What, indeed.

And what am I willing to do?  Am I willing to carry the cross?  Am I willing?

Silence

9 years ago, my spiritual mentor suggested I take a silent retreat.  I am not sure why, but I never did it until last weekend.  I can now categorically state that I will not wait another 9 years to do this again.  In fact, I want to make a 5 or 8 day retreat next time.

I went with very little expectation.  I truly wasn't sure what to expect.  For me, talking comes naturally and silence doesn't.  And lately, silence has been even more elusive than usual.  I have found myself distracted by many things.  I have avoided empty space and filled it with all manner of mindless (and, frankly, Godless) entertainment.  (Whole seasons of bad tv shows on Netflix comes to mind.)  So the idea of 32 hours of no distractions was a tiny bit intimidating.

But most of all, I was relieved.  I felt as though I was going to just fall into my Love's arms and let him hold me for awhile.  On the first night we met with our spiritual director for an orientation.  She shared some scripture about Jesus doing a healing.  'What do you want to ask God to do for you?' She asked us.  'And what do you think God is asking YOU to do?' I had no idea.  I didn't have an agenda at all except to rest.  And the greatest rest is with him.

After meeting with my director, I went to the Holy Ghost chapel to pray.  It is a huge church, and was in complete darkness except for the light behind the tabernacle illuminating a beautiful crucifix on the wall.  I sat up front and wondered if it would be weird for me to go right up to the tabernacle... but ended up staying in the pew.

In the church, in the darkness, just me alone, I began to feel the longing.  The yearning. Oh Jesus, how I long for you.  The box was there, behind the altar.  Tears began to fall.  And snot.  I didn't have a tissue.  Oh how I long.

The next morning I attended the Mass.  It was so sweet and lovely.  The center is an old Jesuit college that is now a home for retired Jesuits and a retreat center.  So at the Mass, there were many old priests, most of them wearing stoles.  They spoke the consecration words together, even as one priest was standing at the altar.

I wept through the whole service.  I do that at almost every Catholic Mass I attend.  And long to take communion.  Long for the Eucharist.  And weep.

I confessed this to my spiritual director.  The longing for the Eucharist.  The pain I feel that I can't take it.  She gently suggested that I might even be a little angry.  I am not sure about that. Mostly I feel as sense of deep sadness and... thirst.

And so it went for the weekend.  Moments of joy entwined with moments of bittersweet longing.  I ate alone.  I spent time alone.  I walked the stations of the cross in the Jesuit cemetery.  I was particularly taken with the image of Simon of Cyrene carrying the cross for Our Lord. Would I be willing to do that, I wondered?  Am I willing to carry your cross, Jesus? I meditated on the crucifix.  I communed with the ducks and swans in the pond and napped in my little room.  I read Henri Nouwen and the scriptures.  James and Peter and Ezekiel and psalms.  I wrote in my journal and was surprised that I hadn't written anything about the intense pain I have been through this year.  I wrote and wrote and wrote.  Scribbling notes in the margins of my bible.  Savoring the words.  Seeing the world.  Resting.

And then, too soon.  It was over.  I packed my bags and loaded my car and came home to my family.  Yesterday I went to work and spent the day in the in-between place, trying to find a balance between the mystical otherworldliness of the weekend with the day to day demands of the work.  Today I am buying a turkey.  And giving Thanks. And savoring the twinges of longing that lie just beneath the surface.

Into Silence

I am already feeling the pull.  

Pro Woman, Pro Man, Pro LIFE

Now that I have voted, I will share that I voted pro-life... which for me, IS pro-woman.  And man.  And children. And culture.

Everyday, I see the devastation that is wreaked by abortion.  I see the women and men who have suffered for years.  I see the pain and agony, first hand.

Every day I see a culture that has decided that death is a solution for that which ails us.  A culture that has chosen violence to solve it's problems.  And I believe that our culture has been irreparably harmed by the choices we have made.

Many, especially those who disagree with my position, accuse me of being a single issue voter.  That is not precisely true.  BUT because of the gravity of this issue, it is a deal breaker for me if a candidate is pro-abortion.  Just like the abolitionists would never vote for a pro-slavery candidate, so it is with me.

I am not anti-woman.  I am not anti-gay.  I am not a person who wants to hurt the poor.  And I am not stupid or ignorant.  I am not evil or misguided... or any of  the awful things my friends have been posting for months about those who are voting differently than them.

I am a woman who works in the trenches with women and men who have been terribly damaged by a culture that has lost all respect for life. I am someone who believes that we, as a society, can do better.

Hate mail

No, no one is sending me hate mail personally, but on my facebook feed there is a relentless stream of anti-Christian vitriol that is getting harder and harder to take.  It is often disguised in the form of liberal politics, but the underlying hatefulness is so shocking I really have been stunned. 

I cannot imagine any other group being the object of so much derision.  I can't imagine people feeling that it is acceptable to call anyone else idiots, nuts, vultures.

And I am not saying that Christians, as a group, are always above criticism.  Of course not.  Any group made up of....humans... is bound to have it's faults.  But the kind of stuff being bandied around is just not loving or kind in any way, shape, or form.  It adds nothing to the conversation.  It doesn't open the door to understanding.  It is amazing how closed minded ''tolerant'' people can be.

Christianity is an easy target, I know.  Any group that lives outside the world of conventional wisdom is suspect.  Some of the things we believe are incomprehensible to the world.  But wouldn't that be a great opportunity to have a dialogue?  And how can dialogue happen when there is so much bitterness and polarization?

I admit I am struggling with this because these people were friends from another life.  I used to go to church, worship, and socialize with many of the folks who seem to think nothing of vilifying Christians.  It makes it all the more painful for me.  But I am also aware that I need to be praying for them.... and praying for myself to get over it.

Proverbs 19:11 A man's wisdom gives him patience; it is to his glory to overlook an offense.

Matthew 5:44 But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you,

John 13:34 A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another.

Lord, help me to pray for those who write these hurtful words.  Let me be an instrument of peace, not of discord.  I pray that I will joyfully lay down my past and take up that which you have for me.  I pray for healing and strength in the face of anger and hatred.  I pray that I will be willing to be a fool for you, my Savior, Lord, Friend.