more thoughts on a year of beholding...

When Di and I found it essential to embark on this journey into retirement - and a new way of being in ministry - we went to the Eastern Townships of Quebec for a few days of solitude and silence. It was essential because the old ways had outlived their usefulness and vitality. To go into a new way of being - a new way of living, loving, serving, and honoring the Source of Creation - required some quiet time for discernment. 

As I have noted in the past, often a word or phrase from Scripture comes to me during these retreats to bring a measure of focus to my sorting. My earliest days of ministry were shaped by Luke 9: 62: Whoever puts his/her hand to the plow and looks back is not fit for the kingdom of God. (Ah, precious clarity of youth!)
Later and for a long time, it was Psalm 37: Fret not... be still and know that I am God. Later still, Matthew 11: 28-30 offered guidance: Come to all ye who are tired and heavy laden... and I will give you peace. (Especially Peterson's retelling: Are you burned out? Come to me and I will teach you the unforced rhythms of grace.) For the past few years, Isaiah 55 has been a constant reference: Seek the Lord while he may be found, call upon him while he is near ... For my thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways my ways, says the Lord. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.

On our retreat, a new text captured my imagination, and I have used it to guide decisions, actions and options for living into this new way of being. The text is Luke 1: 31: Behold thou shalt conceive in thy womb, and bring forth a son, and shalt call his name Jesus. It is spoken by the angel Gabriel to the Virgin Mary about how it is she shall bring Jesus into the world. I love the Blessed Virgin and believe the heart of ministry has to do with giving birth or making flesh the words of Christ in daily life. 

So as I began to ponder and study how behold is used it rang true for a year of discernment. Behold, you see, shows up often in Scripture as a call to see and respond to something remarkable God is creating. In Hebrew, hinneh, is often translated as behold meaning: pay attention. Chazah also suggests perceiving and understanding with the intellect. In the Greek New Testament behold is how ide is rendered - mirroring the Hebrew hinneh - for taking notice of something in reality that holds significance. So for the past nine months (hmmmm?) we have been noticing. Beholding. Watching and looking for the things God is sharing in our lives right here that likely have deeper significance. It is a sacramental way of seeing, where nature and events point towards something deeper even as they have authenticity in themselves.

So what's popped up in all this birthing, noticing and perceiving? 

+ First, our lives have become noticeably smaller. On a fixed income, we can no longer afford to do many of the things that once were common place. Like spontaneous travel. Or movies and concerts. Or subscriptions to favorite periodicals. Or unplanned shopping and dining out. Out of necessity, we have now eliminated a host of expenses - including our denominational health insurance - so that we can live into what is most important: sharing love with our children and grandchildren, being present to L'Arche Ottawa, making music. and being fully alive with one another. Being small has helped us discern what is most important for whatever time remains. There is a loss in this, to be sure, but such is the way of love: beholding is helping us to say yes with clarity and no with conviction. 

+ Second, living smaller also means living slower. Every day there is time for prayer, study, walking, talking, making music, taking in the PBS News Hour and a bit of British mysteries with Di at the end of the day. We go to bed earlier. I get in a few hours of reading, too. Moreover, I am no longer in a hurry to get any place. I have time to talk with everyone I meet at Wal-Mart - and do! Same with Aldi's or Stop'n'Shop. I can go to the hospital and be there for hours with someone if need be. Or take as long as is needed with colleagues in conversation. Living slower has taught me how to behold who is right in front of me so that I can use the time that is for what's most important. Loving. And listening. And being.

+ Third, being smaller and slower gives me time to be a home-body: I bake bread, prepare new recipes almost every night, clean our house and do little repairs. As an organizer, a student and then a pastor, most of these simple things went by the wayside. I was often too busy, too tired or too distracted to give mundane matters my attention. Now, however, I have time to send notes. Or be a neighbor. Or learn from my baking mistakes. I have mastered the Middle Eastern salad, fatoosh, and figured out how to cook falafel, too. I get to be with Lucie every morning as she wakes up and help Di prepare for her work. Additionally, I have the space to be outside cutting grass. Raking leaves. Weed whacking. Gardening. Walking. Feeling the wind. Or the rain - and soon the snow.

+ And fourth I am learning a new way of practicing my Christian faith. For most of my life I have been connected to a faith community. Now my community is six hours away in Ottawa. I cherish our time but am only there once a month. That means it is up to me to find a way to read and reflect on Scripture because it is no long a part of my routine. It is up to me to reclaim contemplative practices because I no longer have to prepare liturgies according to the seasons. And it is up to me to find new/old ways of letting the rhythm of everyday lead me closer to the love of Jesus. As I told my blogging buddy in Brooklyn, this small, slow way of living has lead me into what I call being a secular monk. It makes sense to me and grounds me, too. 

Now that I have tossed out most of my sermon notes from nearly 40 years of pastoral ministry - sorted through most of my books and music, too in a quest to simplify and stream-line living - there's very little in my life from the old days. Oh, I have all my Eucharistic gear and my prayer icons on display, but that's about it. My new life has become quiet, small and slow where it used to be public, big and busy. Tomorrow I'll go to Connecticut to practice music. Thursday I'll head to Brooklyn for a few family days. When I return, we'll turn our attention to All Saints and All Souls day. Later in mid-November I'll be in community at L'Arche Ottawa for conversation, Eucharist and music. And then back to our retreat. By Thanksgiving 2018 we will have sorted through art, book, papers, clothing and all the rest so that in come spring time we can sell the house and find a smaller, quieter place to continue this new life. "Behold" says the Scripture, "I am making all things new." I am so grateful.