The Holy Birth

Joseph holds Mary's hand, her fingers gripping tight and hard as she begins the final work. She pushes. Every eye in the stable is on her, even the animals seem to hold their breath. The Babe comes--bloody, purple, mottled, his little fists clenched, his legs drawn up tight against his body as he squeezes through the narrow birth passage. As all watch, he takes his first breath of life...and cries. His legs kick, his arms flail, the purple mottled skin begins to turn pink with every breath. Quickly Joseph wraps him in a rough blanket to keep him warm. Another contraction, another push--the birth is done. The innkeeper has supplied a clean knife and the cord is cut. As Joseph runs to the inn for water, Mary brings the Babe to her breast; he eagerly suckles. The animals sigh deeply and go back to sleep, comforted that life has begun anew and that they were blessed to be its witness this cold night in Bethlehem. Joseph returns with a jar of warm water and the servant girl, Iscah. He busies himself with cleaning up the wet, bloody straw and replacing it with fresh, as Mary and Iscah bathe the Babe and Mary washes herself. Joseph pulls a clean robe from their travelers' pack and soon Mary and the Babe are clean, warm and dry. Iscah sits with the innkeeper's dog at Mary's feet and watches as the holy family embraces God's mystery. Joseph passes her the jar of wine after he and Mary drink. "Thank you, child, for helping us," he says as she drinks to the wonder of it all.

I'd like to think that the family had a few hours of rest and sleep then. That Joseph lay down with Mary, and they snuggled the Babe between them to keep him warm. That Iscah returned to the inn, but the dog remained, faithful in his watchful duties. And that...as they slept, the great star hanging high over the little village of Bethlehem began to guide the world to this Babe. From lowly sheperds to great kings---all were called. Life for this holy family, indeed for the whole world, would never be the same.

The Mystery Begins...

The morning feels mysterious--wrapped in darkness, fog, quietly illuminated by the gleaming candles. Snug and warm, I ponder the wonder that comes tonight. I think of Mary & Joseph who will be this night in Bethlehem....

They awaken to begin the last day of travel... weary, dirty, cold. Does Mary feel any signs of the impending birth? Or is she so exhausted that she doesn't feel anything at all? In my mind, they begin their trek walking alongside the donkey who carries their supplies for the journey--blankets, a skin of water, some bread. By day's end, Mary's labor has begun, and she can no longer walk. Riding their donkey now, each contraction causes her to grab his mane tightly; her water breaks as they enter Bethlehem in the dark. Wet,cold, trembling with exhaustion and fear, she's uncomplaining, but Joseph knows he must find her a place to lie down for surely his child will be born before dawn. He knocks on door after door. As each opens he catches a glimpse of the warmth and conviviality of the families gathered inside; he watches as other travelers relax, laugh and eat. For him and Mary, though, there is no room--except in the stable. Will that suit? It doesn't, but there are no other options, and Mary's time is very near. I'd like to imagine that the innkeeper took a moment to help them get settled, that he knew Mary was about to give birth, so he tried to make their meager lodging a bit more comfortable. Perhaps he left a lantern, a jar of wine, an extra blanket? Perhaps he told Joseph, "Come to the inn whenever the Babe is born, and I'll send a jar of warm water to bathe the Babe and for Mary to cleanse herself. My servant girl, Iscah, will help." I can see Mary slowly slide off the faithful donkey and sink to her knees on the stiff, prickly straw covering the stable floor. "Oh Joseph," she softly cries, "has God given me a burden too big to bear?" Then she remembers the words of the angel Gabriel, and her heart fills with God's warmth, her 'soul magnifies and her heart rejoices' because tonight--very soon--her Babe will be born, blessed by God. Joseph cares for the donkey while Mary spreads the blankets. As the darkest hour of the night wraps them in quiet, the only sounds are Mary's muffled cries and the soft breathing of their stablemates--the cow, the sheep, the innkeeper's dog who has come to stand guard. A tiny black cat peers down at the scene from her perch on a rafter and purrs; the chickens ruffle their feathers and settle again on their roosts along the wall where the cow eats her hay. As Mary's moans become more frequent, all awake to watch and wait....

A Visit from Sainte Foy

As I sat in this morning's pre-dawn darkness journaling by candlelight and listening to the pilgrimage music of the great organ at Conques playing on the CD, Sainte Foy came to visit. She took my hand and lead me back to her Abbey Church. We sat there together on the hard wooden pews watching the votives flicker against the shadows on the creamy stone walls of the church. She pointed to St. Jacques keeping her company in the west transept and to Mary's chapel on the east. We listened as the pilgrims gathered there sang "Ultreia," their anthem, accompanied by Brother Jean-Pierre on the grand piano made small by the high walls and vaulted domes. Altar, choir, hard backless benches lined across the nave for small Masses...all protected by lacy ironwork, delicate from a distance, deadly spiked on closer look, forged from prisoners' fetters shattered by the Little Saint.

"Sainte Foy, Little Saint, Virgin Child, martyred for your love of Christ...free me from the fetters of my life that keep me tethered to things that don't matter. Free me to come again to your great Abbey Church to sing praise to your Creator, my Creator, our God, our Christ. Sainte Foy, Little Saint, as you are a child, so love all the children. Hold them in your care and keep them under your watchful eye. Teach them faith, teach them love, teach them to have fun, O Little Martyr. Teach me these things as well. Whisper my prayers into God's listening ear. Whisper His divine will into my listening heart. Bless me, Child Saint. Offer me to God, our Creator."

Prepare the Way

The Advent readings this week are from the prophets. "Prepare ye the way of the Lord!" Isaiah 40:3-5 tells us that a voice cries this in the wilderness. Malachi 3:1..."Behold, I send my messenger to prepare the way.." The Gospels quote these prophets of old as well and add their own stories exhorting people to prepare for the Lord. Matthew tells Jesus' parable of the maidens who went to the wedding feast unprepared and slept, missing the bridegroom when he came. Luke begins his Gospel with the story of John who came before Jesus to prepare the way for the Word of God. Preparation, it seems, is a very important part of Advent. How do we normally prepare for the birth of Christ? We bake, we decorate, we send greetings to friends. We shop and party and generally get caught up in the swirl of holiday fun. Is this how God wants us to prepare? Is this what the prophets had in mind? I believe, that while God doesn't have a problem with this superficial activity, He really means for us to go much deeper, to cleanse our hearts and souls, and to meditate on His word. Elizabeth's Saturday evening homily likened it to deep cleaning your home before you have houseguests. Your guests will poke in the closets, raid your refrigerator, and notice if the bathroom isn't sparkling. All those hidden places better be clean and free from the detritus of worldly living! God knows all those hidden places of your spirit. Are they clean and sparkling? Are they cluttered with worldly junk? As I prepare for Christmas, my deep cleaning includes my Centering Prayer practice and learning about lectio divina. How are you deep cleaning your spirit this Christmas?

This Virgin and Babe are part of one of my Christmas creches.

Practical Advice from Mary

"Practical Advice from Mary" is the title of today's reading in the Fr. Thomas Keating book "The Daily Reader for Contemplative Living." I've been using this book for my daily devotion in conjunction with my Centering Prayer practice; I've found each meditation to be rich with meaning and new insights. This meditation was no exception. Fr. Keating references verses from the first part of John 2:1-11. It's the familiar story of the wedding feast at Cana where Jesus turned stone jars of water into good wine. As verse 11 says..."This, the first of his signs....manifested his glory; and his disciples believed in him" What Fr. Keating draws my attention to, though, is that Jesus' mother, Mary was also there. Her presence and her words seem almost an after-thought as John tells the story, but it was she who said to Jesus... "They have no wine." And it was she who uttered the most important words in these verses when she said to the servants... "Do whatever he tells you." Across the centuries she speaks to me today with her very practical mother's advice...'do whatever he tells you.' I have to ask myself what is Christ telling me to do? What is Christ telling you to do on this day?




This Virgin is found in Conques placed high in the vault of the Porte de la Vinzelle where she blesses pilgrims as they leave the village on their way to Santiago de Compostela in Spain.

Fete de Sainte Foy

The parvis of the church is full of pilgrims and villagers come to celebrate the fete of Sainte Foy. It's a few days off, but they gather still to enjoy the company. A clear, starry night, cold autumn, the glow of the changing trees is wrapped in darkness. Tonight the only glow is from the flickering torches that light the square and cast long shadows up the sides of the half-timbered houses flanking the parvis. Musicians cluster around a stone bench--flute, tamborine, lute--a voice high and clear sings a haunting tune in the old Occitan language. Strangers from the north can't understand the words, but they feel the story of love, sorrow and prayers to the 'little saint' stir their souls. Wrapped against the cold, the people mingle, eating handsfull of roast chestnuts, looking for family, conducting trade with peddlers, and sharing stories from the pilgrim trail, the Via Podensis. A small, roughly garbed monk wanders midst the crowd, his heavy robe and cowl enveloping his features. In a people small of stature, this monk is smaller still, but no one questions his presence. He's simply another pilgrim, a faithful wanderer in search of Sainte Foy this year. By next year, he will seek St. Jacques at Santiago de Compostelle. Small feet slipped into the roughest of thick wool stockings and shod in hard leather and wood sandals tread softly on the stones. Deep in the sleeves of his robe, surprisingly small, slender fingers pray the beads. Who is this strange monk who stands close to a knot of women sharing stories of children and kitchens? The men trading gold nuggets quietly by the fountain barely notice the cleric's presence as he dips a cup of water and leans in to hear their conversation about the gleaming gold and the fine jewelry it will produce. If anyone cared, if anyone looked closely at the face mostly hidden by the robe's deep cowl, they would see not the whiskered face of an old monk, but the sweet, fresh face of a young girl, her eyes sparkling with the excitement of the music, the stories, and the glittering gold. This child, almost a woman, has come to the 'little saint's' celebration. Sainte Foy is here enjoying her disguise, enjoying her fete, enjoying her faithful people.

Click the appropriate link if you are interested in learning more about Sainte Foy, her Abbey Church at Conques, or the village of Conques. "Little Saint" by Hannah Green is a beautifully written book that weaves all these stories together in a personal memoir of discovery from the author's many visits to Conques.

Shutting Out the World

I snapped this photo on my visit to Calvignac in September. It's not unusual to find modern art installations in rather strange places in France; that this one was at the entrance of a beautiful medieval village did not surprise me. While it wasn't particularly beautiful, I felt compelled to get a few pictures of it; I was reminded of those photos last weekend at my Centering Prayer meeting. As we settled to begin the prayer session, three people in the group took off their glasses and put them on the table in the center of our circle. It struck me that I take my glasses off as well when I pray, and I began to ponder that. Which was NOT a good thing, since during Centering Prayer one is supposed to let all thoughts go and not engage in them. Anyway...why do we take our glasses off to pray? I believe that it's a symbolic way of disengaging from the world and of turning within. If you can't see the busy-ness of the world, you can't be distracted by it when you pray. Sometimes I even need to put my hands over my eyes to help me focus; if I'm wearing my glasses, I can't do that. What helps you shut out the world when you pray? Do you remove your glasses? Do you darken the room? Lock the door? Take the phone off the hook? How do you follow Jesus' command: "Whenever you pray, go to your room, close the door, and pray to your Father in private?"

By Candlelight...

Somewhere in hazy ancient pre-history, our ancestors tamed fire and their world opened up. A candle, lit in the dankest cave or the darkest stone hut, dispelled the night, chased away spirits, and enabled them to continue on with the work of their world long after the sun had set. A candle was a blessing, something so special in that long ago time that it was given as a lighted sacrifice when prayers were offered up to their gods, their God. In my search to rekindle my heart and spirit, I've returned to the candle. By its light, I read my daily devotion; by its light I offer my prayers. Unlike my ancestors, my candle gives me a focus that shuts out the world. In the dark morning or the late night, I turn out all artificial light and light my candle. Beyond its flickering glow, the world's busy-ness stays quiet in the dark; I can ignore it for a time. Offering a prayer as I light my candle, I call Spirit into my life. Candlelight brings only enough illumination for the task at hand...writing, reading, praying, meditating. I can forget about reports, projects, data, balancing the checkbook. Only when I blow out the candle's gentle flame and flip the switch that brings electricity surging into light bulbs big and small is there enough light to do the world's work. A few brief moments in a world lit only by a single flame soothes and centers my soul. I am again at one with Spirit.

Sunday Worship

I couldn't have picked a better Sunday to worship as I seek to re-center myself in Spirit. I worshipped on Sunday instead of Saturday evening because the Confirmand that I was given to mentor needed to meet and interview me for her next class this week. Her family attends the 10:15am service, so we made plans to meet at 9:30am. We tucked ourselves into a corner of the downstairs chapel away from the noisy Parish Hall, so we could actually have a conversation, and she began her questions. How could I not focus on Christ when she asked when I first knew I was a Christian? Her questions about where I most feel God in my life made me think and remember and feel again those times that I called on God and He answered. We shared a mutual place where both of us feel God's presence...in ancient churches. She completed her assignment, but I gained far more than she did from simply answering her questions. Then upstairs for the service of saints on this All-Saints Day. There were two babies presented for baptism...my very favorite sacrament. I loved watching Mary annoint them with the blessed waters of baptism and Elizabeth seal them in Christ with the oil of chrism. But my favorite part of the baptismal sacrament is when we in the congregation are called to support these children as they grow in faith. And then we all re-affirm our baptismal vows, saying after each vow "I will with God's help." Strong words that bring me back to center, back to Spirit; words that remind me that all I am and all that I do comes from God.

Organ Music and Candlelight

I'm sitting here journaling by candlelight and the organ music of Conques, searching for God in the midst of the world's busy-ness. Since returning from France, busy has been non-stop: work issues, projects including moving my office, a long weekend in San Diego visiting family, buying a new car and bidding the old one 'adieu,' struggling with a sorethroat and cough, a dental problem, a doggie health issue, planning trips to the laundromat (I've GOT to buy a new washer soon!). You get the picture--all those things that hold you in an iron grip of worry and distraction. Where is God in all this? My Centering Prayer practice has stopped; I hardly find time to journal, say a quick bedtime prayer or even glance at the prayer list from church. I feel frazzled, a bit empty and annoyed at myself for letting exterior things interfere with my interior peace and groundedness. I've decided to let the wonderfully opaque graphic glass windows of the Abbey Church at Conques block out the world's distractions while I renew my inner spirit. For the next few days, I'll seek Spirit in ritual and intention. Will you join me?

Merci Lady

Since I'm not Catholic, many of the saints, customs, and ceremonies that I encountered as I visited the churches of France last month had little meaning for me other than simply being beautiful. Laury introduced me to one of her rituals, however, that made so much sense that I've decided to adopt it. She has her favorite Merci Ladies at each of the churches in her area. The Merci Lady is, of course, the Virgin Mary, but a statue of her that usually stands alone, dressed simply as a blessed and faithful woman. No fancy robes or crowns of glory; no Infant or dying Christ in her arms. She stands waiting to help, open to your prayers. Laury always lights a candle and says a prayer of thanks, a merci prayer to this woman of God. Once I started looking for the Merci Lady, I saw her in every church. And I, too, would light a candle and say a prayer of thanks...for friendship, for opportunity, for all the blessings that God has bestowed upon me. Do you have a ritual to offer thanks to God? Do you have a Merci Lady in your spiritual life?

This lovely Merci Lady stands in the 15th century church at St.-Cirq-Lapopie.

What Color is Your House?

It's a cold, snowy day in Iowa. I looked out my window this morning onto a world of grey and white...early winter had arrived. To lighten my spirits, I decided to blog about colorful Collioure at Musings from Red Bell Farm. And sure enough, I left home headed to church for our Centering Prayer workshop with summer in my heart. God's blessing of a wonderful trip to France provided me with yet another blessing with its memory on this dreary Iowa day. As I walked into church, I was immediately captured by colors on the wall. The pre-school class had painted lively pictures of their houses and hung them for all to see.

Hearts filled with God's love, these little ones paint their world and their houses with vibrant color. When I ignore God's loving presence or forget to be grateful for His many blessings, my world becomes sad and grey, and my heart becomes heavy. By offering my gratitude in prayer, I welcome God's vibrancy back into my life. My house is full of bright color. Is your heart filled with God's love? Is your world cold and dreary? Could remembering God's blessings fill you with colorful gratitude? What color is your house today?

Sainte Foy

Who is this young girl kneeling in faithful supplication before the hand of God? Why is she in such need of His loving presence? She is Sainte Foy, and I found her at Conques, a magnificent pilgrimage site in the Aveyron. Here is her story:

Foy, whose name means "Faith" in the Occitan language of her times, was the 12 year old daughter of a wealthy Agen nobleman. Born in 290 C.E. Foy was cared for by a wet-nurse who taught her the Christian faith which she embraced with love and enthusiasm. She especially liked to take food to poor Christians who lived outside her family's villa. She was encouraged in her good acts by Caprais, a local Christian bishop, but her father was angered that she stole food and gave it to Christians.

The years between 294 C.E. and 305 C.E.were especially dangerous for Christians as the new Emperor, Diocletian, began a new wave of persecutions. His local governor, Dacien, carried out his edicts and martyred many Christians in his district. He visited Agen in 303 C.E. There Foy was betrayed by her own father and sent to appear before Dacien. He ordered her to give sacrifice to either Diana or Jupiter to prove that she was not a Christian. This 12 year old child stood up to the Governor refusing to do either and proclaiming that she was a Christian and in the name of Jesus Christ was ready to suffer any kind of torture. Dacien ordered her flogged, then had her tied, naked, to a metal grill to be burned alive. It is said that snow fell miraculously putting out the fire and wrapping Foy in a mist to cover her nakedness. Undeterred, Dacien then had her beheaded...a martyr for her faith.

Many miraculous deeds are attributed to this young saint who is described as fun loving and playful. She has healed blindness, helped mothers in childbirth, and has a special penchant for freeing shackled prisoners. Her remains were brought to Conques in the 9th century where they are venerated in the Abbey Church there.

Here in one of the chapels around the nave of the church, Sainte Foy is seen holding the sword that killed her and the palm branch that symbolizes her martyrdom.









This grillwork, some of the best example of Roman ironwork in France, is said to have been made of the iron fetters from the chains of prisoners who owed their freedom to the intercession by Sainte Foy.

I am mesmerized by this young girl's story. A child of 12 years, not yet a woman, whose faith was so strong she could stand up to the Roman government and die for her love of Christ. A faith so strong....would I have this strength? Would you?

Bells

Life in rural France is measured by church bells. From my bed at Laury's I could hear the hours and half hours chimed from two different village churches along the Lot. Last Saturday evening I heard bells coming from a different direction calling the villagers of Cadrieu to Mass. Their itinerant priest celebrates Mass the last Saturday of every month, and the bells ring to remind them..."This is the day...come!" In Conques I heard the bells persistently calling the Brothers to church for 7:30am matins and 7:30pm vespers. Watching them hurry into the church, their long white robes flapping wildly over their sandaled feet made me hurry as well. Slipping quietly into a back pew, my heart was thrilled by the sweet tenor voice that began to sing the liturgy the moment the bells became quiet. The bells that chime in my photo are from the church in the tiny village of Cenevieres. Protected by its 12th century chateau, the church and its villagers have been marking time, praising God, celebrating Holy Eucharist, giving thanks for births, marriages, and saints, and mourning deaths to the rhythm of these bells for centuries. Worshiping God and measuring life...always reminded by the bells.

Rocamadour

It's hard to avoid churches and pilgrimage sites when you visit France. Religion has played a huge part in the history of this country and is still an important part of its patrimony. This photo is from my visit to Rocamadour, a major pilgrimage site on the way to Santiago de la Compostela in Spain. Several of France's kings made pilgrimage to this holy place that has roots as far back as the 7th century. A pilgrim wishing to do penitence would ascend these stairs on his knees, praying the rosary at each step. There are 287 steps to the church of the Black Virgin at the top. I can only wince in imagined pain at the toll these steps took on the pilgrims' knees!

While there are many other churches in France that have a Black Virgin, the one at Rocamadour is one of the most famous. To me, she is also the most beautiful. The dim light in the church made it hard to get a good photo, but I hope you can appreciate how special she is. In some ways this trip feels like my pilgrimage. I'm still not sure exactly where this pilgrimage is leading me or just what God's plan is in all this sacred exploration and spiritual beauty. Maybe the early pilgrims weren't sure either. My prayer is that I, like them, can find my way to what God intends.

Montsegur

Help me understand....

This is Montsegur located in southwest France. It is a ruined Cathar stronghold that sits atop a pog. In 1243-44, 500 Cathar men, women and children were held at siege by the French army. Pope Innocent III decreed Cathars to be heretics and pressured the French king to assist him in destroying all Cathars in France. After almost 10 months, the besieged finally were overcome. The French demanded that they recant their heretical faith or be burned. 250 refused to recant and were burned on a huge pyre in the meadow marked by a memorial in the photo below. I climbed to the stronghold...a very difficult hike, but well worth it. The view from the top is magnificent, but loses some of its fascination when you consider that the people who were trapped here were this far above any help.

This is only one of the places that the burning happened. Eventually all the Cathars were eliminated. In fact, nothing remains of their faith except the writings of the Catholic church which explains why they were decreed heretics. Essentially they are people who rebelled against the excesses and exclusiveness of the Church. They did not believe in the Holy Eucharist, nor did they believe in infant baptism. They believed that the Bible should be written in the language of the people and made available to any believer, not just held in the hands of priests. The only sacrament they practiced was the consolamentum or laying on of hands to declare a person as a Good Man or Good Woman.

For these reasons, they were destroyed in the name of God.

Help me understand......

The Church in St. Cirq Lapopie

I'm frequently surprised by churches in France. An ancient facade can hold relics and art from the long distant past or it can open into a bright modern space. You just never know when you pull open the big wooden doors what you may find inside. The 15th century church in St. Cirq Lapopie was that kind of surprise. Instead of being dark and dim inside, it was white, airy, and open. The walls were still lined with tiny chapels devoted to different saints and the Holy Family, but each chapel had a unique, more modern style. I loved this one dedicated to the Virgin, a gem of blue niched into the white wall illuminated by votives.

Then stepping outside the Virgin's chapel, I'm thrilled by this very modern art installation...a tree leafed with stainless steel bicycle wheels . Reaching high up to the Romanesque vaulted ceiling, does it signify movement toward God? Living modernity growing from a dying world? Or fresh thoughts about religion rooted in the old, established tradition? Or is it....just art!

"Find My Church"

I'm counting down the days until I leave for a month's sojourn in France. I probably don't need to tell you that I'm excited about this trip. While in my heart, I shouted an immediate "YES!" to the opportunity to make the trip when it was presented in March, my mind had to think about it awhile. You know...figure out all the details, ponder the 'what ifs,' count the pennies, weigh the pros and cons. Yes, I wanted more than anything to have this adventure, and I also wanted some reassurance that it was the right thing to do as it could be (and I expect it will be!) a life-changing experience. Part of my spiritual practice is to spend some time every day in quiet time with God; time when I stop talking and instead listen for His direction. I do this on my drive into work. For several mornings I had talked with God about whether it really was the right thing to do, hoping that I would hear a big 'yes' from Him. Being in quiet time and merging onto I-35 from the St. Charles exit, this is what I heard..."Find my church." Loud and clear, not my words, but His. So I did. I will worship with the Anglican Community that I found in Cahors. I've emailed their church secretary; I'm told they welcome visitors. I have the schedule of services, and directions to the Catholic parish In Cahors where they meet. Their priest serves another parish as well, so Holy Eucharist is offered only every other Sunday. I have found God's church in the Lot.

"May I Live This Day...."

May I live this day


Compassionate of heart,

Gentle in word,

Gracious in awareness,

Courageous in thought,

Generous in love.


From Eternal Echoes: Celtic Reflections on Our Yearning to Belong, by John O'Donohue

The Right Door?

A door has opened in my life very unexpectedly. I blogged about it yesterday over at "Musings from Red Bell Farm." I've been praying quite a bit lately for God's will for my life to be made more clear. This door is not the answer I expected...or wanted. It's a bit disappointing and actually feels like it is taking me even further away from my dreams, entangling me even more in something that is neither fulfilling nor moving me toward what I really want to do. It's not something, however, that I have much choice about, so I accepted its challenge, graciously on the outside; not so graciously on the inside! I guess this is where the going gets tough, huh? It's easy to be faithful when life is going my way and much harder when it's not. I want to believe that God is leading me in the best direction, that He has glorious plans, that my dreams will come true. I want to believe... Like the father of the child possessed by the unclean spirit, I cry "I believe; help my unbelief!" (Mark 9:24)

A "Sign"

In yesterday's post I explored my need to see visual proof to bolster my faith. I'm not alone...the Disciples, the adoring crowds, Jesus' accusers...all asked repeatedly for signs of his divinity. I went to bed Friday evening with 'signs' on my mind. Early Saturday morning as I was rattling around in the kitchen gathering the essentials for that first cup of coffee, I glanced in the sink. Imagine my surprise when I saw a tiny green tree frog looking quite perplexed as he hunkered down on the cool porcelin. At first I was startled, then I began to chuckle to myself. God has quite a sense of humor. I could just see Him up there smiling..."You think you need a sign, huh? Well, here's a sign that even you can't miss, Evelyn!"

I borrowed this image from Google. I scooped my 'sign' up and had him safely returned to the marigold bed outside before I even thought about snapping his picture!

Show Me A Sign

I had lunch with Elizabeth today at La Mie. Food was good and the conversation was good as well. We chattered through lunch and beyond covering such diverse subjects as kids, college, sports, good books to read, cooking, Julia Child, travel, Alaska, France....never a lapse in in the conversation! We ended up talking about tomorrow evening's service, the readings, and the sermon. I laughed as Elizabeth confessed that she didn't have anything put together yet and we giggled at the idea that maybe she should just tell the congregation that she was fresh out of ideas and what did THEY think the readings meant? After all, what new can you say about Jesus being the 'bread of life?' That led to some discussion about both the apostles and the crowds of people who came to hear Jesus preach. They all wanted some sort of visible sign of his divinity. "Show us a sign!' they'd shout, 'heal someone, raise someone from the dead, restore sight to the blind!' Even today we're such visual people...we want to see Christ at work in the world. It can't be real or true if we can't see it, right? Then I confessed that my favorite song from the 70's rock musical Jesus Christ Superstar is Herod's Song. Herod wanted visual proof as well. Who knows what might have happened if Jesus had shown Herod a sign and had turned his water into wine.

How To Pray...

I received an email from a friend yesterday that contained a link to an online presentation about how to pray. If you're interested, you can click the link and watch the video. I have to admit that this is not the type of video I would normally watch. It feels a bit like those tele-evangelist programs you see on TV and yes, Dr. Price does ask for money to help him with his ministry. Once I got past that initial hesitancy, however, I found the presentation fascinating. Dr. Price preaches well; he teaches well. And his audience is obviously engaged...everyone has a Bible, is taking notes, and responds to Dr. Price's questions. I appreciated the lesson he taught and loved the energy he inspired. I also am a firm believer in occasionally moving outside my comfort zone in exploring faith. Dr. Price and his congregation are certainly not part of my normal routine. Whether I choose to pray as he instructed is not the point. The message he preached is important. You have to invite God into your life. You have to be grateful for His blessings. You have to 'speak' your faith whether you do that through words, song, creativity, actions or charity. You don't keep your faith inside...it has to be shared in some way; faith is you and God and community. And then when you ask God to answer your prayers, look out! For as Elizabeth said in last evening's homily: "Now to him who by the power at work within us is able to do far more abundantly than all that we ask or think, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus to all generations, for ever and ever. Amen" (Ephesians 3:20-21. Italics are mine) God will do more in your life than you could ever imagine and answer your prayers in ways more abundant than you dream.

Who's the Boss?

Elizabeth's homily last evening was taken from Mark 6:30-34. These are the verses that lead up to the 'feeding of the 5,000' story that we are so familiar with. Jesus has sent the apostles out to preach the Good News, to cast out demons, and to heal; they've returned, exhausted by their travels. As they begin to tell Jesus about their work, he stops them, saying "Come away to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest a while." How kind and compassionate Jesus is to recognize their weariness and offer them time to replenish themselves! Asking each of us to think about our bosses at work, Elizabeth challenged us to decide if this is how our boss would treat us at the end of a big project or after a particularly busy time at work. Does your boss tell you take some time off? does he/she offer to take you to a place of rest and relaxation so you can recharge your batteries? would you even want to spend 'down' time with your boss? I know how I answered those questions. Who is your Boss? Is he important enough for you to spend quiet time with him? He asks you to do that....how do you respond to his kindness and compassion? I definitely know which Boss I want to work for; how about you?

Joy...as a verb

I regularly read a blog called "Britt-Arnhild's House in the Woods." While it's not specifically about spirituality, almost everything that Britt-Arnhild blogs about takes on a spiritual context. It's a beautiful, peaceful, soul-soothing blog, and I recommend it highly. And if you're multi-lingual, you can even read it in Norwegian! In a recent post, Britt-Arnhild speaks about joy and that in Norwegian, joy can be a verb. For example, you might say "I joyed today" which roughly translates to "I look forward to today with great happiness." How cool is that? What would life look like if we could joy a little every day? Would others see us joying and follow suit? Instead of spreading negativity, we could joy positivity, making it an infectious double positive feeling, perhaps canceling all the bad stuff out there. We could look forward to/joy everything. My favorite prophet, Isaiah, talks about joy in chapter 35 saying "...the wilderness and the dry land shall....rejoice with joy and singing" and "...they shall obtain joy and gladness." Do you think Isaiah would approve of joying for God...looking forward with great happiness to God's kingdom?

Called to be a Prophet?

We heard from Amos and a plumb line at church last night. Elizabeth's homily focused on this prophet and God's metaphor of the plumb line as a measure of what is right and true. Prophets have always made me a bit uncomfortable. Elizabeth shared seeing a 'prophet' at the downtown Farmer's Market that morning, standing on his soap box between an organic vegetable stall and an artisan cheese display. Complete with a tee shirt emblazoned with "Repent," he was witnessing his faith..and making most of the Saturday morning shoppers uneasy. This has been my vision of what a prophet is...someone a bit whack-a-doodle, preaching on a street corner and making everyone squirm. When I read Marcus Borg's, Reading the Bible Again for the First Time, I encountered a different meaning for what a prophet is. Borg sees the prophets as lightening rods for social justice. God empowers them to speak out and indict those abusive forces in society, to threaten and name those abusers, and to give voice to oppressed peoples. They 'draw the line in the sand;' either take action to right this wrong or suffer the consequences. Their plumb line divides the upright and true from the wrongs of society. Prophets are not crazy men, predicting the end of the world; they are concerned citizens speaking up for what is right. Rich Mayfield references one such 'prophet.' See if you can guess who he's writing about before you get to the end of his essay. Does this mean we are all called to be prophets? That was Elizabeth's challenge to us.

Eyes of God

Let me wrap my arms around your cool smoothness.
Let me stroke your soft strength.
Eyes of God peer from your soul.
I am sheltered in your presence.
Do you endure your domesticity?
Does your soul long to live free among your comrades?
I await your golden fluttering answer.





PS....I chose to be a mentor. I chose love over fear.

I listened to a tele-conference last night that is facilitated by my friends, Deb and Rita. It was one in a series based on "The Course in Miracles." This one was about finding one's purpose in life. The statement that hit home with me was: There is love and there is fear. Only one is real and that's love. If it's God's purpose for me to be happy, then absolutely the only thing that's real is love. Fear keeps me from happiness; love encourages happiness. My last blog entry referenced a ministry that I've been asked to accept. I meet with Elizabeth this afternoon to discuss what mentoring a young Confirmand will require of me. I think God spoke to me last evening through Deb and Rita's presentation on purpose. I will view this decision through the eyes of love, not fear. And I will be back to let you know what my decision is.



Photo: Mount of the Holy Cross in Colorado taken last week.

Strengthen Me...

"Strengthen me, O Lord, with your holy spirit..."
Elizabeth has asked me to do a really hard thing. She would like me to sign on as an adult sponsor for one of the young confirmands currently studying to become a confirmed member of the Episcopal Church next May. Being a sponsor would mean meeting with my confirmand a half dozen times during the next few months, engaging them in conversation about their faith (Elizabeth will provide me with the 'conversation-starter' questions) and attending a church service with him/her at a church other than an Episcopal one. I can certainly make the time to do this. So what's the big deal?? The idea of working with kids and being a faith role model terrifies me! Although I love kids, their curiosity, their energy..I've never thought of myself as being particularly good at relating to them. I keep having flashbacks to teaching Jr.-Sr. Sunday school class when Sunni and Scott were in those grades. It was SO hard and I vowed to never put myself thru that misery again! Middle school was a hard time with Travis...I wasn't sure either of us would survive his 'smart mouth' so typical of those early teen years. And, I keep hearing echoes of past criticism of my skills with kids from someone whom I believed was correct in his assessment. Then there's my almost total lack of knowledge about what it means to be Episcopal...actually the kids could teach me a lot! I've thought about this; I've prayed about it. Elizabeth and I will talk about whether I'm the right person for this service to God, for this ministry. In the meantime, I'll continue to ask God for His direction.

Abbey of the Arts

I've added a blog to the list of the ones I follow. It's called "Abbey of the Arts" and is written by a woman who is a Benedictine oblate and holds a PhD in Christian Spirituality. She also does Spiritual Direction. I loved reading through past blog entries and clicking through the links to other articles she's written on topics such as sacred poetry, art and spiritual practice, and praying with music. I think art adds a richness and depth to any spiritual practice. Beauty speaks to my senses and involves me in ways that feel visceral. Certain notes on the violin move me to tears, certain colors create a physical reaction deep in my center. During worship the rhythm of the liturgy, the visual feast of flickering candles and colorful vestments, and the fragrance of incense helps me feel God's presence in ways that words alone do not. When I have the opportunity to hear sacred music played or sung, I am filled with the Spirit. What a gift and a blessing to be able to create art and beauty to celebrate the glory of God!

The 'Blessing' of the Holy Spirit

This is Pentecost Sunday. The Lesson reading during last evening's service was from Acts 2:1-21. It relates the coming of the Holy Spirit to those gathered. and says in part: "All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other languages, as the Spirit gave them ability." And later in this passage the author references ancient Hebrew writings that proclaim, "God declares, that I will pour out my Spirit upon all flesh, and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, and your young men shall see visions, and your old men shall dream dreams." This sounds like an idyllic way to live, doesn't it...knowing the future, seeing visions, dreaming dreams? Yet, Mary's homily put a different face on this blessing of the Holy Spirit. In a voice thickened with emotion, she told us of her last conversation with Father Samuel Peni, our friend and visitor from the Sudan, as they breakfasted before he and his wife left for their long trip home. Fr. Samuel is blessed by the Spirit; God has led him by the Spirit to speak out for peace and reconciliation within his war-torn homeland, the Sudan. He speaks to bring an end to the violence, the killings, the fear there and to reconcile all within God's love. And as Mary said, this has made him a 'marked man.' His life will be in danger every moment when he returns home. He could be killed by enemies who don't embrace his mission of peace. It's hard to imagine what life would be like when a walk home from church or out to your farm fields could be filled with the real possibility of death, just because you have been blessed by the Spirit with a vision of peace. For me today, it's easy to celebrate Pentecost and God's outpouring of the Spirit to his people. For Fr. Peni who has also received this gift from God, the joy of Pentecost has an entirely different meaning.

For a Friend

I learned this week that an old friend has been diagnosed with terminal cancer and given 6 months to live. This is not a person with whom I've had a close friendship, but still this news felt like a blow to my very center. My thoughts and prayers go out to him and his family; my thoughts and prayers also go within my soul. Life is so very short. There isn't enough time ever to let yourself be sad or miserable. Why does it take this kind of devastating news to remember that? For this friend, a bit of a blessing from my favorite, John O'Donohue's, To Bless This Space Between Us...

"Now is the time of dark invitation
Beyond a frontier you did not expect,
Abruptly your old life seems distant....

When the reverberations of shock subside in you,
May grace come to restore you to balance.
May it shape a new space in your heart
To embrace this illness as a teacher
Who has come to open your life to new worlds...

May you be granted the courage and vision
To work through passivity and self-pity,
To see the beauty you can harvest
From the riches of this dark invitation..."