Mary

I've been enwrapped in thoughts about Mary since Holy Week. I'm not surprised that she came into my thoughts then; for the past few years, I've experienced the Passion through her mother's eyes. It began my first Easter as a member of St. Timothy's Episcopal Church. My priest, Mary, took us through the Stations of the Cross on Good Friday. As she read Station 4: Jesus Meets His Mother, her voice broke and tears flowed, both hers and mine. Ever since, I've journeyed towards Easter with Mary, Blessed Mother of Christ. Her presence has lingered this year, though. Perhaps because I'm here in France where her fingerprints are everywhere...if only you open your eyes to see them. Any town large enough to have more than one church, invariably has one named Notre Dame...Our Lady...of something. Think of Paris. Notre Dame de Paris,Notre Dame des Victoires, Notre Dame de Lorette, Notre Dame d'Esperance, Notre Dame de Perpetual Secours, Notre Dame de Bercy, Notre Dame de la Grace...the list goes on. She is present, though, in every church here as statue or....

stained glass.

She holds her precious baby in the ruins of ancient abbeys....

She prays in the outside grottoes of tiny villages....

She watches over pilgrims as they pass through the portals of ancient fortified towns

and from the walls of the hostels where pilgrims sleep...

Look up...you may see her praying high in a niche on the wall of someone's home...

And she is frequently a presence for travelers in roadside chapels and shrines.

Mary is always there. You just have to open your eyes to see her.

My eyes are open, and I'll share what else I've seen with you in another post.

(all photos are from my travels in France 2009-2012)

Holy Saturday

It's Holy Saturday. The cross is empty. Outside it's raining; the skies are heavy and gray. I read the service for this day in my Book of Common Prayer. There are no hymns of joy, there are no prayers of the people. We pray only the Lord's Prayer. The focus this day is Christ. It's a day of mourning for him, and a day of awaiting his resurrection tomorrow. It's a day to think about him, his suffering and his sacrifice, not about my worries and wants. As I meditate on Sainte Foy's flickering candle, I sense that even her normally exuberant self is subdued and quiet this day. She, with all the other saints and angels of heaven, will spend these last hours of Holy Week mourning the earthly death of Christ by sitting in quiet meditation and prayer. The angel choir will not sing today; the saints will not march. On this day heaven holds its breath and waits with me for the joy that comes in the morning.

A Mother's Suffering

This is Holy Week. All my devotions ask me to pray about the suffering of Jesus during this time. While I can do that intellectually, it isn't until I pray about Jesus' mother, Mary, that my heart breaks wide open and the tears flow...

 As a mother, I can feel the joy she must have felt as he preached, as his ministry spread. She can feel his exhaustion and knows how dangerous his ideas are to others. I know how she longs to comfort him, to hold his hand while he prayed. I can sorrow with her in the understanding that not one of his friends will stay awake and pray with him. But his mother would. Mothers are always on-call for comfort and support. She would say to him...'you rest now; I'll keep watch over you as I did when you were a baby' ....fully knowing there is nothing she can do to prevent the events of this week unfolding. I am angry and indignant with her as she watches him being scourged and tormented and mocked...her child! How dare they do that to him! I flinch with her and my gut tightens as we listen to each nail being pounded in. Oh, the agony! And I can weep with her as she stands by the cross watching the life fade from his eyes as he gives up himself to his heavenly Father.

Mary, who unlike us, doesn't know the rest of the story until she hears the rumors on Sunday. The tomb is empty; He has risen!

As God's servant, she rejoices. But as Jesus' mother, she still weeps bitter tears, and I weep with her. He is gone forever from her life. She will never hug him or lean on his arm for support again.  Never again will he sit at her table to share a meal and later talk with her of his dreams, his ideas, and his Father's plan for him. There will be no grandchildren; no daugher-in-law to help her in her old age. Jesus will not be there to hold her hand and weep for her when she dies. There is an empty place in her heart that will never again be filled...in this life

But today, Maundy Thursday, she does not yet know all this. All she knows is that tonight, Jesus will share the Passover meal with his friends, his disciples. They will break bread, drink wine, say the prayers and sing the songs. He will not eat at her table tonight for already he belongs to the world.

A mother weeps and suffers.

Psalm 24

"Lift up your heads, O gates!

and be lifted up, O ancient doors!

that the King of glory may come in.

Psalm 24:7

Be A Vine

My friend, Edith, sent me a book of Lenten meditations this spring. It's called "Organic God" and is written by Kate Moorehead who was Edith's priest at St. James Episcopal Church in Wichita. She had sent me one of Kate's books for Advent and knew I enjoyed reading it as a daily spiritual discipline. Likewise I've enjoyed this Lenten book. Using the words of Jesus, Kate explores spiritual themes from an organic aspect using nature as her metaphor. One meditation that really caught my interest was the one on Sunday which explores the vine as a metaphor for discerning God's will. Searching for and interpreting God's will for my life has been a struggle. I never seem to quite 'get it.' And from what Kate writes, I'm not alone! As she explains it, God's will isn't a problem to be solved or a guessing game to win or lose. The fullness of God's grace and being allows us such freedom that almost anything we do...as long as it is rooted in Christ...is what makes Him happy and what He will support. There is no one right answer. This is rather like what Ignatius of Loyola suggests as well...that God gives us imagination and inspiration and ideas. And He expects us to use them! Kate uses the metaphor of the vine to explain this. Vines grow in any direction, on almost any surface. They are strong and versatile. Faced with a rock or a steep surface, they will find a way to survive and thrive, as long as they stay attached and rooted to the main stem of the plant. If we are the vine and Christ is the stem, we can grow and thrive and explore all our imaginings and inspirations if we always stay firmly rooted and attached to Him. As simple as this is---this is God's will.

Blood of Christ

"Blood of Christ, inebriate me."

From the ancient prayer, Anima Christi.

Easter Morning

Morning dawns. The tomb is empty.

Light from dark. Hope from despair.

Joy from sorrow. New life from death
.
Resurrection.

His throne awaits at the right hand of our Father.

Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia!



 
 
Photo: St. Etienne Cathedral, Cahors, France
March 2, 2011

Stations of the Cross With Mary

This year my Lenten discipline has been to "Pray Lent" every day with the Creighton University Online Ministries site. Although not Episcopalian (Creighton is a Jesuit Catholic university), the liturgy and lessons are similiar, and I've been comforted, challenged, and inspired by these daily devotions. Lent is over. It is now the Holy Days of the Paschal mystery. Today being Good Friday seems the right time to pray the Stations of the Cross.This year I've chosen to pray them with Mary, Mother of Jesus. As a mother, to see the crucifixion of Jesus through Mary's eyes has been a powerful and moving experience for me. What mother can't relate to the feelings and emotions she must have had as she watched her beloved son mocked and scorned, beaten and finally crucified unto death? I invite you to pray the Stations with Mary. Click here to access the Creighton site.

Here Lies the Son

It says..."here lies the son." It's a niche in the wall that surrounds the village church. The son's name isn't completely legible because of the lichen and grime that accumulates on this old stone. Today we worship at the manger where another Son lies. This day is full of wonder and glory and joy. You can't help but be excited about this birth or about any birth, any child lying in his crib. A new life ready to go forth and make his mark in the world. It's truly a joyous occasion. But as we know the story only begins in that manger so many years ago. So while we celebrate its beginning, we also must always be aware of where it ends...with the cross, with death, pain and humiliation, and finally with resurrection.

"Here lies the son..." today he lies in the glory of his birth! But in the days and years to come, he will lie in other places, places not so loving or so safe and protected. Let us always celebrate his beginning by also honoring where the story ends.

"I'm Coming, Lord!"

Part of my commitment from the Cursillo weekend experience is to live my faith in piety, study and action during what is called 'the 4th day,' or the rest of my life. My most recent 'study' was reading the book "A Jesuit Guide to (Almost) Everything" by James Martin, SJ. In this book Fr. Martin tells a story about St. Alphonsus Rodriguez(1532-1617). St. Alphonsus was a Jesuit who served 46 years at the Jesuit College in Majorca, Spain. He was a porter, or doorkeeper. His job was to answer the door, receive visitors, deliver messages, etc. The story goes that each time the bell would ring, 'he would look to the door and envision that it was God himself standing outside.' Then as he ran to open the door, he would say, "I'm coming, Lord!" In this way he commited himself to seeing Christ in all people and treating each visitor as he would Christ.

I tell this lovely story to share with you what my Cursillo action is this week. I am volunteering in the church office while the secretary is on vacation. My sole responsibility is to answer the phone and help the caller reach the person they need...the rector, the pre-school director, the book keeper, whomever. Like St. Alphonsus I've dedicated myself to taking a quick second to declare "I'm coming, Lord!" each time the phone rings. Do I expect Christ to be on the other end of the line? No...but I do expect to see Christ and hear his voice when the caller speaks. And I will respond to each call as I would respond to Christ.

Go...

Outside the window the world waits. I've come to Christ. I've prayed and studied. I've worshipped and praised. The Eucharist has replenished my soul and any empty spots inside have been filled with God. Now it's time to live into the rest of the story. It's time to take God into the world, to live a Christ-centered life, to put my faith into action. During my Cursillo weekend, there were many talks that focused on action...what to do with faith. Some people I know do mission trips to Mexico or Africa. Others teach Sunday School, help with vacation Bible school, or are youth group sponsors. Some work in the church's outreach missions in domestic violence, the food pantry, or the faith garden. I've struggled with finding my action. What is the outreach that I am most suited for? What can I do in the world for Christ with a passion?  There are many opportunities, but no clear choice for me.

Yet, every time I worship, I'm exhorted at the end of the service to: "Go forth to love and serve the Lord!" There's even a sign as I exit the parking lot that echoes this reminder...that I'm entering the world, my mission field.

Go forth to love and serve the Lord. How do you take Christ into the world? How has God blessed and empowered your action?

Come...

"Come and see," Jesus invites in John1:39 and 47. Yes, come and see what Jesus is all about. Again in Matthew 11:28 he says "Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens..." Again he invites. Part of my weekend at Cursillo was about this invitation. I was invited to learn more about Christ and living a Christ-centered life. I was given the tools to do this through piety, study, the sacraments, worship, song and prayer. I explored grace; I crafted ideals for my life and prayed them into reality. I learned to look through the wavy, opaque and convoluted ways of the world to see the crystal clear image of Christ beyond them. I relinquished control of my agenda and my world that weekend to come to Christ as my true self created by God the Father...vulnerable, open and willing. It's a simple invitation that we find so hard to accept....Come!

Feed My Lambs

A rough-hewn handmade cross blesses the site. Rows of flowers mark the southern boundary. Then row upon row of vegetable plants begin their march to cover 3/4 acres of what used to be St. Timothy's lawn. A small garden has bloomed into an ecumenical project at my church this summer. A parishioner plowed and tilled the bigger space; others came and worked the soil, sowed seed and dug holes for plants. The first crop was radishes, of course! And they found their way to hungry people. Peas came next...30 pounds at one picking. The 150 tomato plants are predicted to produce 2 tons of tomatoes. Volunteers from other churches in the area help weed, harvest and re-plant; it's become a real community project. There is discussion about our church partnering with the Cathedral downtown to process and can produce as that church has a huge kitchen and the ability to meet food regulations. It's a big deal, this garden project. It's a response to Christ's instruction to 'feed my lambs' found in John 15:21.

But it's even more than that. Most of the harvest from this garden goes to non-governmental agencies, i.e. churches and non-profits that serve undocumented peoples...the homeless and those in this country illegally. During my garden photo-taking session, I spoke with one of the garden's founders who told me that all the 'official' Des Moines and state agencies require two forms of ID in order to help/serve clients. This effectively eliminates both the homeless and those undocumented workers in this country illegally; they are turned away leaving it to places like the Eddie Davis Center and churches in the area to help. I've been haunted by this knowledge ever since I heard it. No matter what your political persuasion or how you feel about illegal immigration, no matter if you think being homeless is a matter of poor personal choices...if someone comes to you hungry and in need, you have an obligation to help whether they have the proper paperwork or not!  Whether we decide to send someone back to their own country or back under the bridge to sleep, we should send them with full stomachs and maybe even a sack lunch for the journey. It's the least we can do to feed Christ's 'lambs.'

I Can See Clearly Now...

This is what it's all about...now and forever.









Read about the glasses at Musings From Red Bell Farm.

Now...the Rest of the Story

Easter Sunday has passed. We've walked through the times of hosannas and the times of sadness. We've supped with Jesus, broken bread, and washed feet. We've watched him be flogged, crucified, mocked...then laid in the tomb. The Cross is empty and so is the tomb. The Easter story has ended. Or has it? As Easter people, our story is just now beginning.  We walk away from the cross and out into the world. Now is the time to live the rest of the story as Christ taught; to love God and to love our neighbors. I like to think this fisherman that I saw along the Mediterranean coast last September was starting out on his journey to 'fish for men,' just as Christ instructed his disciples. Christ has invited us into a relationship with God, the Father. Now is the time to accept that invitation, to leave Easter and live in relationship with God in the world.

Journey from Dark to Light

I dreamed last night that I was in this covered bridge. As I turned around to look back where I entered, the spring flowers and grass were wet with a lightly  falling rain. It was muddy, but beautiful. The grass glistened with raindrops and the flowers eagerly soaked up the moisture. I turned and looked at the dim tunnel interior. At the far end, the day was light and bright, the grass was green and growing. I stood, wondering how to get from here to there. Holy Week is here. Today is Palm Sunday. Waving the branches and singing "Hosannas!" we enter. If we sneak a look back, we can see the clouds gathering and the rain beginning. With Christ, we must walk through the darkened hours of the tunnel...Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, Holy Saturday. We will deny, we will fear, we will shed tears of sorrow and pain, we will watch the Light extinguish. At the end of the tunnel, though, there is the Light of glorious celebration...the Resurrection. To get from here to there....we walk through the darkness.

Shadow Side

This week I am exploring shadows for my online photography class,"Eyes of the Heart." My instructor, Christine Valters Paintner, is a Benedictine Oblate and integrates spiritual formation with contemplative practice and the expressive arts. She describes her website, Abbey of the Arts, as a 'virtual monastery.' So while our class assignments include 'receiving' photos from our world, they are also invite us to become deeply reflective and  to delve into our spiritual nature. This seems to dovetail nicely with my Lenten reflections as I sit and become still in order to  more deeply contemplate my life: good and bad, light and shadow. My shadow against the snow compelled me to receive it as I walked all bundled up against the cold this week. It almost yelled at me to stop and think: anything or anybody that stands in the Light will cast a Shadow. This is what makes us real, both pieces of our nature, both parts of our humanity. No one is perfect, no one except Father/Son/Holy Spirit is pure Light. Only by recognizing my shadow parts will I be able to embrace myself, God's beloved child and His creation.

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....

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.