Practicing the art of centering prayer    LOOK! A squirrel !!

In case you have not noticed I take the spiritual life pretty seriously.  People are often amazed to hear I have spent time attending the Baptist, Pentecostal, Methodist, Presbyterian, Catholic, Anglican, and most recently, Moravian churches.  I have often been tempted to answer when asked, “Where do you attend Church?” to answer, “All of them.”  I have stumbled my way through the church looking for only God knows what. 

I consider myself blessed to have experienced so many different communities and to be a part of the very, different way the Spirit moves.  I believe in demon possession as much as I believe in transubstantiation.  It is entirely possible that a fish as big as Moby Dick swallowed Jonah, but I don’t think that is the point of the story.  I think frogs might have rained from heaven and locust covered the land like a blanket of snow, but again, I don’t think that is the point.  Jesus probably did walk on water and make blind people see by spitting in mud, but again, I don’t think that is the miracle. The more miraculous thing to me is that God talks and God is very interested in talking to us.  The real miracle to me is God is at work in our lives even before we know it.  God is stalking us and is trying to prepare us for the shock of becoming God’s beloved.

During Lent, I have failed at trying more different ways to pray than just trying to succeed at maybe praying consistently.  Prayer for me is sporadic at best.  Praying in color was fun, but I found myself looking for the best pencils to use and what knew Zen doodle design I could try.  I made prayer beads one year.  I think I made like 100 sets.  I gave most away.  I learned the Catholic, Anglican and Orthodox rosaries.  All three.  I sought out a spiritual director to teach me the finer art of centering prayer.  I found that instead of repeating my word over and over or praying the Jesus prayer over and over, I just looked at squirrels.  I bought prayer books and tried praying the hours.  All offices.  It was then that my spiritual director suggested I might be over doing it a bit and kind of missing the point of prayer.  I still love my prayer books though, and I do use them from time to time.  I prayed the Psalms, both ways.  Cranmer’s and following the Lectionary. I practiced Lectio Divina and again, after finding a passage to meditate on, I would usually begin to chase rabbits after about five minutes. 

The thing with prayer is it is hard to get into and hard to stick with.  I am pretty haphazard when it comes to prayer, but every once in a while, the Spirit gets me by the collar and I fall into a season of prayer.  I guess it is a good thing I wasn’t called to be cloistered, I am not sure I could have endured praying 7 times a day and as much as I like to wear wool, I do tend to prefer cashmere and merino.  Somehow, I don’t think that is what habits are made of.  Being an introvert, I would have not experienced too much difficulty with silence, but fasting, not so much.

So, I have been thinking lately about the things I pray about.  I self-edit.  And yes, I am insightful enough to hear a therapist voice in my head saying, “Kathleen…really it doesn’t matter if it is right or not, just let God know how you feel…”

Sometimes I wonder why we pray at all.  Does it work? Does it matter? Maybe it just like playing Magic Eight Ball, sometimes you get answers and sometimes you don’t.  

I suppose what I am looking for in prayer is something authentic.  I wonder why the prayers of the people never include a space for those of us who just want to acknowledge that life can become unbearably painful and shitty. I want prayers to include words like, “God help me stop crying for answers when I know I will never have the answers.  God, help me learn to live just for today and to accept the things I cannot understand.  God help me be patient with you and myself.  And help me not to be so distracted by squirrels, that I don’t feel my pain.”  I don’t think you would ever hear that on Sunday morning.  We don’t talk enough about distractions honestly either.  I want to have a prayer partner who doesn’t mind me telling me that what she really prayed about today was her shoes.  I want to have a prayer partner that tells me she really doesn’t want to pray today and does God really care about her new haircut?  I want a prayer partner who will say, I want to hear someone say that they calculate how to catch glimpses of God walking out the door.  I want to hear someone say they secretly want to know if God will come out from wherever God is hiding and surprise us. I want Jesus to show up, so I can lean over and whisper, "Hey, I am really hungry...want to go get something to eat? And did you really go without food for 40 days?"  I want to lean over and whisper to Jesus, "Now, let's get real for a minute...who really was your fave?  I know you had to have a favorite. And I am sure a time or two you had to want to get some Pharisee butt."  I want a prayer partner who will honestly sit in pain and trust that God will hold it, even if we don’t exactly understand how that happens. Sometimes, I just want to watch the squirrels.

Considering lilies

Remembering Larry "Rudy" Queen

One day I will be a great saint.  One day I will have a soul made of sunlight and skin and I will shine like the saints in the stained glass windows of churches.  But I do not shine now, and I would never be mistaken for a saint but when you meet one who shines like a stained glass saint…you never forget. 

Why lilies?  Why especially lilies?  Maybe He loved them for being white, the way I love delphinium for being blue.  Maybe it was because of their long slender green leaves that look like swords and maybe it was because the blooms look like trumpets.  Maybe He loved them because they are so common.  Maybe because they were fragrant.  But it seems like He loved them. 

It was in the Sermon on the Mount, that Jesus told his followers to consider them.  Consider that lilies are dressed better than kings.  He uttered that command with same authority that he commanded us “to let your light shine” and “turn the other cheek” and “love your neighbor.” 

He loved sparrows too and He didn’t think their care and feeding beneath the dignity of God.  We can’t comprehend that kind of care. And it would be easy to say Jesus was just a lover of nature if this was the whole picture of Christ.  But it is not.  The same man that looked at flowers and loved them looked at humans and loved them too.  Jesus celebrated God’s care of sparrows and miraculously fed 5000 people.  He did not love beautiful and attractive people, His love made things and people beautiful. 

So, it should be no surprise to me that he loved lilies too.  And I looked into the eyes of a saint that day, a saint who loved lilies.  And I will always remember him. 

My mind knows a world of illness, the fear that can invade a person. I know a world where illness can strip life of its joy, dim the light of the heart and put shock in the eyes.  I see worlds breaking.  I watch their helpless love. I see the young lives that should be out in the sun enjoying life that leave lamed by an accident.  I understand that no one can learn beforehand and elegant or easy way to die.  And some days standing between the bleak despair of illness, some days I see the beauty.  Some days I see the unquenchable light of the human spirit.  And see the people who gain distance from their suffering and transform it.  And it was one of those rare days, when I saw all of that and I will never forget him.

He didn’t look as well as he had the day before. I was afraid he might be getting septic.  But he was just thinking about how much he loved her and how much he missed her.  He was thinking about a time when death would surrender and time would be no more…and there would still be Calvary.

He loved music, particularly Southern Gospel.  He sang.  But mostly, he loved well. And that is how he will be remembered that he loved well.

  

I was standing on holy ground that day and forgot to take my shoes off.  He didn’t know then how it was going to end, but he knew it was a win- win.  He didn’t know what suffering he may be facing, but he knew he held the trump card.  That when it was all said and done and death had surrendered…there would still be Calvary.  There would still be love that conquers death.  

I listened to music with him that day and it made me cry.  Actually, I wept when I got home.  After all these years, I still haven’t gotten used to all the tears and perhaps that is the point.  And after all this time of wondering and waiting and praying, it turns out Jesus   shows up in the oddest of places.  On that day, Room 901 Reynolds Tower.  On that day, Jesus was singing southern gospel music. 

It arrived in the mail this week and I wept.  Remembering how he loved lilies too.  Remembering his courage, his faith, his love, his transparency, his suffering that transformed, and his song.  Seeing a saint shining that day and knowing now that he lives where time and space are no more.  Knowing that he is singing with the one who loved lilies.

All is grace,

Kathleen

Mistake made holy

I cheated on my hairdresser.  I let someone else wax my eyebrows.  Cheating on a hairdresser in some ways is a more serious offense than cheating on your spouse.  And don’t ever try to divorce one either, a hairdresser that is.   It is a painful process.  So, now because of my cheating ways I have a huge chunk of my left eyebrow missing.  And yes it is noticeable.  The lady at the Bobbie Brown counter even casually suggested that she “do my whole face,” when I stopped by just to buy my tube of lipstick.  I have worn that same shade of pink for about 10 years.  She asked, “Honey, I could do your whole face for you in about five minutes and show you Bobbie’s new technique for eyebrows.”  Translation, “You look ridiculous and I am embarrassed for you and want to help.” Justin, my hairdresser, said, before I ever sat down in his chair, “Kathleen, did I do your brows the last time you were here?”  Translation, “WTH, you are starting to sport stripper brows.” I broke down and confessed that I had cheated on him.  He laughed and said, “Well, I can show you a trick till it grows back and how about let’s not ever repeat this mistake.”  I left that day with the mistake corrected. 

I was stunned as I suppose the rest of the Western world and Christendom with Pope’s Benedict’s announcement that he would be resigning the papacy, something that has not happened in 600 years.  I am not sure what a retired Pope does exactly and apparently the Church is not clear on this either.  Things, like what will he wear, how he will be addressed and where will he live and what will he do are on the top of the concern list.  He doesn’t get to take part in the election of the new pope but he did appoint 67 of 117 cardinals who will be at the conclave, so in a way he does influence the outcome quite a bit.  He is a theological conservative.  He reintroduced the Tridentine Mass.  It’s a form of the Roman Rite Mass found in the Roman Missal that was published in 1570.  It was the most widely celebrated mass in the world and celebrated exclusively Latin.  It fell out of use after Vatican II in 1969. 

My protestant theology does not completely agree with the Tridentine Mass but my heart loves the beauty and ceremony of it.  So, had I been pope, I would have re-introduced it as well.  I loved the way Benedict dressed as well. Pope Benedict XVI has re-introduced several papal garments that had fallen into disuse.  He started wearing the red papal sources which had been used since Roman times, but Pope John Paul II preferred brown or black.  He also began wearing the red papal hat which had not been seen since 1963.  I think he may have reminded us by his love of aesthetics that in a world that looks increasingly ugly there is still beauty, whether it is in a Latin chant, an embroidered altarpiece or a cassock.  Beauty reminds us the goodness of God.

I suppose that humans often being humans often second guess their choices and wonder if our choices are mistakes.  Like my eyebrows.  A mistake.  I doubt the Pontiff thinks he made a mistake accepting the office, but some will criticize.  Often our choices are often less than perfect and we suffer the consequences. 

I often wonder if Jesus thinks the Church was a mistake.  A mistake made holy.  The Church certainly doesn’t look like he intended.  In fact, the argument can be made the Church is far from its roots.  It started out as a Jewish community centered on agape relationship.  The relationship was far more important than the doctrine.  The early church struggled with diversity but understood it as a sign of the Holy Spirit.  The followers of Peter and James had walked and talked with Jesus and strived to imitate Jesus.  The story transformed lives.  Jewish practices were central to their worship.  It was not seen as contradictory.  They embraced the paradox and mystery of faith.

Pauline Christianity highlighted the vision of Jesus.  Again, Paul opened the church to the marginalized and taught that love changes heart. The followers of Paul felt the grace of Christ changed hearts and lives and minds.  The story of the Gospels is what transforms not a set of beliefs.  Paul seemed to ask everywhere, “If Christ, then what?”  I don’t think Paul is nearly as polarizing as we like to think, I just think the Church fails to understand him.

The Church struggled in the third and fourth centuries but St. Martin preached the wisdom of the Desert Fathers and Mothers, and the power of Christ transforms lives. St. Martin preached that living as if the story was true was far more important than believing the story to be true.  St. Martin was not a popular bishop.  He embodied a more egalitarian leadership style and practiced a more humble life than other church leaders of his day. His influence only last a few generations beyond his death.  The church hierachary only tolerated St. Martin and replaced the priests he taught as they died out with more familiar structure of authority.

It was the Celtic Christians of the third and fourth centuries that most intrigues me. They practiced open monasticism.  Many leaders were women.  Celtic Christianity focused on one’s relationship with an anam cara or soul friend, a person with whom one partnered to receive and give unconditional love and unconditional truth and insight.  I could have used one last week to stop me from entrusting eyebrows to a complete stranger.  I also as I am sure we all could, use a soul friend from time to time to address mroe serious concerns.  Celtic communities were focused on helping one live as though they believed. 

These movements were the Church that might have been. They were not perfect any more than the institutionalized church of today. They made mistakes. They lived in tension.

"Christianity started out in Palesitine as a fellowship; it moved to Greece and became a philosphy; it moved to Italy and became an institution; it moved to Euroupe and became a culture; it moved to America and became an enterprise."  Sam Pascoe

I suspect that is probably the real miracle of the Church.  It was a mistake, really.  A human construction of what to do with the question, “If Christ, then what?”  How do we live a life like Jesus and how do we live as if our beliefs are true.  It is a mistake made holy.

It is the beauty of Lent.  Recognizing our mistakes, our mortality, our humanity, how often we fail,  our and embracing our brokenness.  But the most important recognition of all...is what God does with all of our mistakes.  Mistakes made holy.

When failure is the best option

Today is Ash Wednesday.  I confess I am a failure at Lent.  I am not sure if I am failure because of my thoroughly Southern Protestant roots, my addiction to sugar, the fact that I am a recovering perfectionist who refuses to participate in her own recovery or lack of discipline.  All of the above I am sure.  

Our current media saturated culture doesn’t lend it self well to traditional Lenten practices and the current psychobabble that is so prevalent in our culture doesn’t exactly conform to the practice of self-denial either.  And if I am to lean far to the Christian Evangelical right, our position on sin isn’t exactly healthy either. 

Things I have tried to give up for the Lent in the past:

Wine I can’t see through or comes in box.  Given my allergy to tannins and that I never drink a red anyway and I am snob and refuse to drink wine out of box, that left white wine completely legal.

Meat. Never ever met a steak, a chicken, a hamburger or a hot dog that I couldn’t live with out.  And since Lent usually occurs before opening day of baseball season, the hot dogs didn’t pose much of a temptation either.

Food but only from 9 to 3 on Fridays or before communion, which is the traditional way of fasting and might I add for someone who routinely doesn’t eat lunch and could not possibly get a family ready and fix breakfast on the same Sunday am before 11 am, not too hard.

Sex. That was the year I was pregnant with Davis, in my first trimester and vomited every day for 16 straight weeks, could only eat bananas and spaghetti, had two yeasts infections and was really reconsidering the whole motherhood thing.  True story.  Ask Vance.

Watching TV.  This was before Downtown Abbey and the years following Tim Duncan at Wake Forest and ACC basketball had lost its appeal.

Caffeine.   That was the year I was diagnosed with a heart rhythm problem that is made worse by caffeine. I will fail to mention that it was casually suggested by a mental health professional that perhaps I had a little too much secondary stress in my life and perhaps 6 cups of Java prior to 9 am and getting paid to help people die didn’t go hand in hand.  And this was perhaps my most successful Lent because I am highly motivated by avoiding cardiologists at all costs and I worked for one for over ten years.  And I really didn’t want him seeing my prepped groin on procedure table.

Gossiping.  I choose that the year I prepping for a national certification exam in a short six week time period, had divorced a very good friend, given up on God and people in generally and just really choose not to engage the human race. 

Last year.  Peanut butter cookies from Subway.  I lasted about four days.

 

One year I “fasted” from buying any new piece of clothing from Ash Wednesday until the Saturday before Easter. Lent is over on Palm Sunday and Holy Week begins.  This meant I could still buy an Easter Frock on Holy Saturday.

I think you get my point, 40 days of self-denial is just not possible for me.

I have also been known to take on things like:

Read all the Gospels in 40 days.  Actually I started out pretty good but finally had to concede defeat and read the Mark’s gospel on Holy Saturday.  And if you are wondering Mark’s account is the shortest by far. I even stopped where the original text stopped and didn’t read on. Not kidding.

Commit to memory the entire Sermon on the Mount.  I didn’t even get the Beatitudes memorized. 

Pray seven times a day. I am not sure that I even remembered to pray more than once a day and I don’t think Jesus, what the heck counts.

Read the Daily Office twice a day. I cheated and read it all at once everyday and if I missed, I played catch up on Saturday and sometimes I skipped the Old Testament Reading and Psalms and jumped right to the Gospel.

Go to evening prayer every day.

One might call me an overachiever, and I think we all can relate.

It occurred to me last week when I was working on a talk to give to a group of women about spiritual matters and was trying to come up something wise, that failing Lent is our best option.

Jesus preached and St. Benedict tried to revive it and we might do well to remember the way to life again.  Jesus preached nothing harsh and nothing burdensome.   Jesus preached kindness, charity and gentleness. 

St. Benedict reminded us that:   “always we begin again.”  

Our culture is not known for reasonableness. But Jesus was.  God is not angry when we forget: to pray, say thank you, love someone enough, be kind, read the Bible, keep money to ourselves when we could give it away, hate our brother for being different, look the other way when we could help.  God might be sad but he is not angry.  God knows we are human and humans being humans will consistently do one thing and that is fail.  We fail because we are not God.  We are wired for failure.  It is our nature.  And this is perhaps the whole point of Lent.  Failing and giving ourselves a break when we do.  After all, God does.  It is only when we realize how frail and how broken we are that we are really able to begin.  Lent should teach us this one very, very important thing and really it is the only thing…If all the broken people of the world would just love the broken people of the world then the chains of sin are broken.  We are all broken.  We all fail.  And the only fixing that comes is when we move forward.  When we fall and get back up.  So this year, just once, fail and let God do the rest.  

This Bud's for you

I think it might have been the best one yet.  Of course, I say that every year.  God doesn’t need a marketing campaign but God had one last night.  A horse, a farmer, Stevie Nicks, Paul Harvey, Ray Lewis, the Sandy Hook Elementary School chorus, Dodge and Budweiser all lined up to declare one right after another, that after all is said and done, God does what God does best and that is being good.  God is good still. 

I think my favorite was the horse, though, followed closely by the farmer.  God made horses, cows, farmers, football players, musicians, trucks, wives, mothers, children, footballs, confetti, Doritos, beer, trainers, quiet people, cooks, commentators and God said it was good.  At the end of the day, it was all good. (Well, godaddy.com, not so much and maybe not so much if you were a 49er fan).  

So God took his love and took it down.  We climbed the mountains and turned around and saw God’s reflection in the snow covered hills and it is usually a landslide that brings us down.  We forget sometimes that the mirror in the sky is love.  We forget sometimes to let the child within our hearts to rise above.  We forget that we sail through all the changing tides of the ocean because of the love of God.  We forget sometimes that in all the seasons of our lives, God is somewhere between hope, regret, getting older, being afraid to change and that in the midst of all of that, God built a life around us.  And on some days, God shows up on sidelines watching us parade around and wonders, did we forget?  And on rarer days still after God has looked at us just long enough to be happy that we are growing up, we get a hold of ourselves and realize almost too late, that it was God that loved us enough to let us go and made us who we are.  We remember the long nights that God slept by us in a barn till we were strong enough to stand on our own.  We remember the days that God let us run ahead of him to give us the courage to know we can do this.  We remember the days that God was there just to rub our heads and to remind us that we are always loved and held.   And we turn and see our old friend again standing on the sidelines just smiling.  Our old friend just wanted to see us for a moment to know that we are good.

I don’t know if Budweiser wanted us to go hug a horse, buy a beer, give thanks to those who have gotten us this far, always embrace change or remember how loved we really are.  I don’t know if Dodge wants us to hug a farmer, buy a truck, listen to radio, buy organic, embrace our American roots and heritage, or  eat more meals at home.

But one thing the marketing gurus did say (intentionally or not), in the midst of it all last night, was tying heartstrings together matter.  God needs somebody to keep on loving when it makes no sense because that is what love does.  God needs somebody with the patience and the willingness to hurt because the suffering need someone to come up along side of him or her. God needs someone to see that grace can be cultivated everywhere.

All is grace,

Budweiser
Clydesdales
Football
Trucks
Farmers
Doritos
Children singing
Chili
Homemade butter
Commercials

When you need a feel good moment:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wPG7PcI67dE