Sitting in silence until it silence us...

Fr. Richard Rohr often helps me put life - and stress - into focus. Today he put it like this:

St.  Francis passed on to us many prayers of praise. He went through his life  finding new things for which to praise God at every turn: the little things,  nature, the creatures, suffering, his brothers—for whatever is happening, he  praises God.

Francis  is never trying to earn God's love; he is celebrating it! He continually enjoys  God's love in everything he sees and experiences. Mature prayer always breaks  into gratitude and praise.

Prayer  is sitting in the silence until it silences us, choosing gratitude until we are  grateful, praising God until we ourselves are a constant act of praise.

Lord, that I might sit until the silence IS me.  I know I got a little anxious last night trying to "herd" 20+ very talented musicians through one final rehearsal.  It took longer to get ALL our equipment running, too - always a hassle - and a few key players couldn't be present.  But after an initial sense of being overwhelmed, I was mostly able to chill and ride on the beautiful music.  But it was a very conscious commitment - not a state of being - but a deliberate act, yes?  And while there are a few minor glitches to unravel today, I'm opting for his second insight - choosing gratitude until we are grateful - for whatever the Spirit brings.

I like the way another friend of mine recently put it:  we should talk less of being "spiritual" because what we really mean is being faithful.  Trusting that God is God and we're not, trusting that when we do our part, the Spirit joyfully knits our parts together with other parts for the glory of God.  Left to myself, my feelings and limitations can cloud out the presence of the Spirit.  But resting in God's love, I can be faithful and "know" that in all things God works good with those who love and serve the Lord.

Like the poet, Marvn Bell, wrote:

We need some pines to assuage the darkness
when it blankets the mind,
we need a silvery stream that banks as smoothly
as a plane's wing, and a worn bed of
needles to pad the rumble that fills the mind,
and a blur or two of a wild thing
that sees and is not seen. We need these things
between appointments, after work,
and, if we keep them, then someone someday,
lying down after a walk
and supper, with the fire hole wet down,
the whole night sky set at a particular
time, without numbers or hours, will cause
a little sound of thanks--a zipper or a snap--
to close round the moment and the thought
of whatever good we did.

Ok, onward to Thanksgiving Eve 2011:  come on up to the house!