A Rhythm of Reading the Psalter

What I've discovered from reading the Psalms regularly is a friendship with this book of the Bible that's our prayerbook.

Divine Providence

 

How do we understand the way God works in the world?

God as Disrupter

As we approach Christmas in the midst of a pandemic, I have found it helpful to reflect on the events leading up to the first Christmas, which was chock-full of disruptive events. In this video post, I consider Mary and Joseph, and just how much their lives were disrupted by God's choosing of them to be the parents of Jesus.

Disruption -Elizabeth & Zechariah

We are not the first to experience a disrupted holiday season.

Waking Up to Weakness as the Way to Holiness

 

Can we accept that growth in holiness comes through vulnerability?

New Wineskins

But new wine is for new wineskins.

                                                                    Mark 2:22b

In the verses that contain the above sentence, Jesus is talking about why his disciples don’t fast while the Pharisees and Joh’s disciples do. He uses the illustrations of sewing a new patch on old fabric, placing new wine and old wineskins and the mismatch of these.

 Mismatch is the word that connects everything in Mark 2:18-22 together. New ways and old ways are not compatible.

 We can only receive new knowledge when we are of a new mind and heart. Otherwise the dissonance between what we are certain about and what is offered to us is a mismatch that we cannot accept.

 Change isn’t easy. And change can cause relationships to be torn, like old cloth tears away from a new patch. One has to be willing to hear a perspective different from one’s own, to be open to another way, to live in the dissonance between what we think we know and new information.

 Many people think that the enemy of faith is doubt or fear. But as is evident in this day and time, the enemy of faith is certainty. Certainty divides us. Faith that is deeply rooted in God is pliable, not rigid.

 When the container that holds our viewpoints is rigid, it can only hold so much. To listen to another voice, a voice different than what is familiar to you, you have to dismantle the container. You have to have a new wineskin if you are to learn anything new. You have to be willing to be changed.

 

Life Beyond the "But"

“They will kill him. But he will be raised on the third day.” And they were heartbroken.

                                                                                                Matthew 17: 22-23

Heartbroken. Just thinking about that word brings back the pain of a heartbreak I experienced. Maybe it also brings back painful memories for you.

Jesus has told the disciples that he will be handed over and killed, but. . . The disciples, like most of us who suffer heartbreak, stop before the but. We cannot even see the “b” of but, much less what lies beyond it. When you are in the depths, it’s hard to imagine that you will one day not be there, that you will be lifted into the light.

Jesus tells them what comes next, the life that lies beyond the but, yet they can’t hear anything past his being killed.

It is what lies beyond the but that gives us hope, that enables us to live in peace and joy despite our circumstances. Christians are Easter people, people who live with hope, with expectancy . . . people who see the but and know that there is more. Even if the but is all we see, simply seeing it enlivens us and gives us reason for praise.

It’s why I love the psalms of lament, because although they paint a picture of a terribly difficult situation, there is almost always a but, a turning point where God’s unfailing and redeeming love is acknowledged, not simply as something to come but present even in the midst of lamentable circumstances.

Experiences of heartbreak are never easy. Yet if we have experienced new life out of shattering circumstances, we can hold onto the hope that the but is not the last word. Life beyond the but is not only possible but full of promise.

All Flame

Therefore, everyone who acknowledges me before people, I will also acknowledge before my Father who is in heaven. But everyone who denies me before people, I also will deny before my Father who is in heaven.     Matthew 10:32-33

Let me not be one who denies you with

my life, while professing you with

my voice. I want my heart to be

open always to you, to be

your dwelling place. I want you

pulsing through my veins, filling every

cell with your presence. And yes, I know

you are already present in these places.

Yet I want to feel you there, in my heart,

in my blood, in my cells. I want,

like Abba Joseph*, to be all flame with you.

May it be so today, gracious Christ.

May it be so. Amen.

*Abba Joseph was one of the Desert Fathers. The reference is to this saying about him:

Abba Lot went to see Abba Joseph and said to him, “Abba, as far as I can, I say my little office, I fast a little, I pray and meditate, I live in peace and as far as I can, I purify my thoughts. What else can I do?” Then the old man stood up and stretched his hands toward heaven. His fingers became like ten lamps of fire and he said to him, “If you will, you can become all flame.”

Mercy

“Show us mercy, Son of David.”    --Matthew 9:27

 Show us mercy, Son of David

   for we are blind and do not know the way forward.

Show us mercy, Son of David

  for darkness envelops us today.

Show us mercy, Son of David

   when we use scripture to justify sin and excuse our callousness.

Show us mercy, Son of David

   when our blindness is so deep

   that we call the bad good

   and the good bad.

Show us mercy, Son of David

   when we do not see the log in our own eye.

Show us mercy, that we may learn mercy,

   that we may love mercy,

   that we may show mercy

      to the hungry and the hurting,

      to the sick and the homeless,

      to the prisoner and the outcast,

      to the privileged and the proud.

Show us mercy, Son of David

   until we become mercy.

Life as Liturgy

Last week was anything but routine in my community. Hurricane Irma, which was Tropical Storm Irma by the time it arrived here, blew through on Monday and disrupted pretty much everything for the rest of the week. Lack of electricity, storm damage to homes, businesses shuttered because of no power, schools out for the entire week—and the story was not unique to our city. Our church housed 100 law enforcement personnel who were sent to assist, so going to work (thankfully the church never lost power) was a reminder that the order of the week was not business as usual.

Almost all our weekday events were cancelled because facilities were used to house and feed our guests. The one thing that stayed on the calendar was our weekly Taize service. I was grateful for that anchor because the activities of the week that help orient me to God through prayer and fellowship with my faith family were on an Irma hiatus.

It reminded me how much I crave order and consistency, and how much life anchored by these occasions of prayer and fellowship is an act of liturgy for me. The various gatherings for prayer, study and meals connect me to God and to my faith community.

Liturgy means “the work of the people” and that work occurred by means other than our usual activities. Our church did much of its “liturgy” last week in the kitchen, preparing three meals a day for the men and women who were making us their home base for most of the week. It was inspiring to see the hospitality offered and the dedication and abundance of volunteers.

I was also reminded that God breaks into routine and offers us the opportunity to wake up from the lethargy that can happen when our lives get so systematic that we go through them on autopilot. In the midst of the dis-order of the week, I had a couple of occasions of God showing up in unlikely ways and places. That I could recognize these for what they were I attribute to the regular rhythm of prayer that forms my own personal liturgical practice.

There are those who discount liturgy, seeing it as old and stiff, but I think a liturgical life gives us a framework that grounds us so that we recognize the Spirit where we might not otherwise. Just as a building needs good framing, a life of faith needs practices that provide order and rhythm, but with space for the Spirit to move through and awareness to recognize the Spirit’s movements. 

What are the practices, the routines that provide the framework for your life, that form your own liturgy? 

Stones

“And don’t even think about saying to yourselves, Abraham is our father. I tell you that God is able to raise up Abraham’s children from these stones.”          Matthew 3:9

It is often tempting

to rely on

the faith of others,

past experiences of awe,

rote practices now devoid of meaning.

But these are stones.

Too heavy to carry far,

they are designed

to make, to mark a path

forward. They are not

sitting stones

but rather

stepping stones

on the journey of spiritual growth.

“Move on, move on”

they say.

“Find new stones. Your life,

like a garden path, is a

collection of such stones,

of Ebenezers on which

to tread.”

Freedom From Fear

For our soul sits in God in true rest, and our soul stands in God in sure strength, and our soul is naturally rooted in God in endless love.    ---Julian of Norwich

To read the writings of Julian of Norwich is to read of the depths of God’s love for us. It’s hard to come away from her work without a sense of peace that dispels fear and anxiety about our relationship with God.

While we don’t know Julian’s real name (the name we have for her is the name of the church in which she lived as an anchoress—St. Julian’s Church in Norwich, England), her recording of a series of visions given her by God is powerful because it provides us with an image of God as loving and merciful.

Consider the quote I’ve shared above. If you spend time reflecting on this, really allowing it to sink into your mind and heart, it is hard to not be filled with a sense of peace and an assurance of God’s presence and love for us. Words from one of John’s epistles come to mind: There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear; for fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not reached perfection in love. (1 John 4:18).

We can grow to a more mature faith in God when we move beyond fear of punishment and can allow our souls to simply rest in God, knowing that God loves us abundantly and endlessly. When we are not afraid, we become open to know that God IS love because we fall headlong into the endless love God has for us.

I encourage you to take some time this and reflect on Julian’s quote. Maybe copy it and put it somewhere that you will see during the day. It is a gift to your soul to find rest in God. 

Like You

We know that when he appears we will be like him because we’ll see him as he is.

                                                                                                         1 John 3:2b

You, whom I so love,

   I want to be like you.

   I want to do what you do,

   love what you love,

   give like you give.

Like a child watches a parent

to copy what the parent does,

I want to copy you, but I am clunky,

your shoes too big for me,

your clothes hang loose on me,

your hat covers my eyes.

I smell your smells in these clothes.

I imagine myself filling them.

I see your smile. I see

your love for me, for my childlike

effort to follow you as faithfully

as I know how. Let me grow and know

you more deeply. Help me become

more like you.

Small Delights

Yesterday I sat at a stop sign, waiting for an opening in traffic so I could pull onto a busy road. As I was checking to the left, I saw movement closer to me. It was a sparrow, flying-hopping up to a seed head of crabgrass, raking the seeds off, then settling on the pavement below to eat what it had harvested. I stopped watching the traffic and instead watched the busy bird until a car pulled up behind me. It was a small delight, a breath of joy breathed into my day.

Later, I was walking across a shopping center parking lot when I saw a dragonfly. I stopped, (safely out of traffic) and simply watched its flight--hovering, then moving, then hovering—until it finally flew out of sight. It was another small delight, and I felt the breath of joy I had felt upon seeing the sparrow earlier.

On a recent walk, I found a petunia growing out of a sidewalk crack. There were no other petunias around, so I suppose this one sprouted from a seed that waited through the winter for its chance to germinate and grow. Its determination and patience brought a smile to my face—yet another small delight.

In a world where we seem to crave the constant stimulation of big, splashy and dramatic events, people and things, I relish these small examples of grace and life. Saint Thèresé of Lisieux had such an appreciation of small things. She said this, speaking of the different flowers—roses and lilies, contrasted with the more common daisies and violets: I saw that if all these lesser blooms wanted to be roses instead, nature would lose the gaiety of her springtide dress—there would be no little flowers to make a pattern over the countryside.

I believe that an appreciation for small things helps us to be more aware of the presence of God in all of life. It also invites us to a more permeating discipleship because we know the significance that the smallest act can have for the world as a whole. When we delight in the small, we are more likely to do the small things that, added together, make a big difference—picking up a piece of trash off the sidewalk, feeding the birds, acknowledging a homeless person by looking them in the eyes and speaking to them.

Thèresé described her mission in life as simply “to make Love loved.” To make Love loved opens us up to an appreciation of the small and simple in life. I would argue that it is more significant than a large, showy mission because it is purged of any pride, any desire for recognition or attention and is thus pure and holy.

Listen

As for you, what you heard from the beginning must remain in you.

                                                                                                                                1 John 2:24a

Long before I was in the womb, long

before I was even an egg—when I was alive

only in the mind of God—

God whispered into me her dream for me.

The word I heard from the beginning

brought me into being.

It remains in me, a spark, which,

ignited by self-knowledge, fills

all of me with light and life.

Listen, my heart.

Listen.

What stokes my fire?

What makes my soul dance?

What nourishes my joy?

Listen.

These reveal how God’s dream

resounds in me. May my life

sing its unique song into the void

I was created to fill.

Threshold

Genesis 32:6-12

Sometimes the threat seems bigger than we can address.

We feel small and alone even surrounded by people who love us.

Sometimes way forward is impossible to see, and we feel trapped—

unable to go back and afraid to take a step into an unknown future.

That is when memory gifts us (if we let it)

with experiences from earlier times when we were in a similar place

and lived through it by God’s faithfulness.

Jacob came full circle, beginning with a desert promise,

recalled as he stood at another desert threshold.

Life gives us many such places—thresholds,

points of uncertainty, tension and challenge—places of coming

full circle, of familiar unfamiliarity, where we know

we may be afraid, but we won’t be alone.

Junaluska

Job 9:1-12

Holy One, I remember how I felt, lying in bed,

awake, unable to sleep. Each night

I managed only a couple of hours.

Those were interminably long, lonely nights.

I ached for your comforting presence,

but though I knew you were present

I found no warmth, nothing to ease the void

of darkness.

It was then that I had to draw on faith, on resources

within, on memories that testified to your love and provision.

And friends, who loved me in the day so I could last through the night.

A place I love so much, that had been a thin place

felt heavy, thick and barren of all it had ever given me. I moved

as one moving in bitter cold—hunched, stiff.

Job, I hear your anguish, and the memory of mine rises up in accord.

I have learned this:

what seemed insurmountable called forth faith, perseverance,

and courageous hope. I have learned that scars can make us beautiful

if we will allow them to be seen.

Faithfulness

Hebrews 11:1-12

Steadfast God,

you faithfulness to us calls forth

our faithful response to you.

In all ages, we witness your tender care to your creation

and creation’s faithful response to you.

From Abraham to Noah to Ruth,

to Jeremiah, Hosea and Esther—

you challenged them to see a future they could not imagine.

Because of your faithfulness

they responded in faithful obedience.

The woman who touched Jesus’ robe,

the centurion who trusted Jesus’ authority,

Paul, whose dogged faith sustained him through countless hardships—

these examples of faith flow from your faithfulness to them.

The early Christian martyrs, and martyrs and saints in every age

saw beyond their lives and trusted in what they could not see.

They lived as those prepared to die,

and in their dying they went forth to live.

Steadfast God, may your faithfulness to us

call forth our faithfulness to you

that we may be numbered among the faithful. Amen.

Questions and Faith

Habakkuk 2:1-3

Compassionate One,

I remember a book title I once read: Swift, Lord, You are Not.

I hear your call to wait, to trust,

yet as I watch a nation’s heart turn to stone

I wonder when the tide will turn.

How many more children will come home to find their parents taken away?

How many creatures have to die before we realize our dependence on clean air and water?

How many people will be attacked and killed before we realize that killing others doesn’t allay our fear?

As the fist of power squeezes tighter,

how many more will be crushed by its greed, its hate, its oppression?

God of the ages, help me to take the long view—

to remember that empires fall when power corrupts,

to see that plants grow from the decay and rot of what has died,

to look at you on a cross and to see the empty tomb beyond.

Evil may seem strong, but you are stronger,

though your way is not the way of the world.

You who are the way, the truth and the life,

may we know that your way is power in powerlessness,

your way is strength in weakness,

your way is nonretaliation to violence,

your way is resurrection through death.

So I will trust;

I will do what is mine to do;

I will not let my heart turn to stone.

I know you will take small acts of faithfulness

and multiply it many times over.

Ashes and Fire

Ephesians 6:10-18

Yesterday’s ashes, washed from my forehead

mark my heart, reminding me that your

refining fire, not chosen by me, compels me choose to

die to self. Flaming arrows of the evil one launched

against me call me to trust not in my strength

but in yours alone.

My ash-marked heart is yours, Most Loving One.

My soul sings of your justice and mercy, inseparable,

one from the other.

I stand by your power, not my own.

I stand in your purifying love.

I stand because of you.

I stand.