desert notes after a bit of wandering...

The joy of wandering slowly without expectations or agenda is restorative to this old soul. With serious rest and plenty of time to take in the native beauty of the desert - to say nothing of savoring the world's finest Sonoran Mexican fare with close friends - these past few days have been blessed.

I am carrying the United Church of Christ New Century Psalter with me on this pilgrimage. It was a gift from one of my mentors, the Rev. Dr. Thomas Dipko, on the occasion of my 20th ordination anniversary. Nearly twenty years later, I still look to the Second Canticle of Isaiah for focus:

Seek the Lord while God may be found,
call upon God while God is near...
For my thoughts are not your thoughts,
Nor are your ways my ways, says God.
For as the heavens are higher than the earth,
So are my ways higher than your ways
And my thoughts your thoughts.
For as the rain and the snow come down from heaven,
And do not return there until they have watered the earth,
Making it bring forth and sprout,
Giving seed to the sower and bread to the eater,
So shall my word be that goes out from my mouth:
It shall not return to me empty,
But it shall accomplish that which I purpose,
And succeed in the thing for which I sent it.

Sitting in the late afternoon sun, surrounded by Saguaro cacti and mesquite trees, a few thoughts that have been hibernating within bubbled up to the surface with clarity in the silence. The first is that this is a time for more silence. A time to honor the inward and outward emptiness of my life as a way of treasuring the mysteries. Less words, more quiet; fewer engagements, more savoring; a narrowing of projects to concentrate on transformative contemplation. I rather like the way Richard Rohr put it recently when he said that the contemplative life is NOT about quietude or self-absorbed introspection. Rather, "contemplation helps us discern what is truly important in the largest, most spacious frame of reality and to know what is ours to do in the face of “evil” and injustice." It implies living ever more simply with an appreciation for clarity along with the willingness and ability to say yes or no to the many options, distractions, and possibilities all around and within me.

For the past three years Di and I have been "beholding." Our guide was the Blessed Virgin Mary who began her journey into faith by embracing what the holy was already doing in her life and holding these things in her heart. Hers was not a journey of judgment, but trust. She honored the mystery and let its wisdom be revealed over time. She embodied holy patience. And that is what we sensed during a retreat three years back, too: let's live into the possibilities that are already clear. During that time we visited some of our favorite places and people, played a lot of music with treasured friends, spent serious time with our beloved family, and got to know the land, trees, soil and wetlands in the place we called home. It was a rich and rewarding season as beholding gave us eyes to see and ears to hear what God was already doing in our lives.

The second insight that grew clearer in the silent sunshine was so obvious that it took a while for me to recognize it: "to everything there is a season and a time for every purpose under heaven." The wisdom tradition of ancient Israel teaches that there is a flow to creation. There is life and there is death, there is light and there is dark, there is joy and sorrow, beginnings and ends, dancing and music as well as silence and solitude. After 40 years of ministry, I know this to be true experientially: I have started and concluded four discrete ministries in four different parts of the US; during each of those ministries I have welcomed new friends and staff and bid them farewell, too; I have baptized and buried hundreds of children of God; I have celebrated the marriages of some and grieved the divorces of others; and I have seen each congregation blessed with the charisms of hospitality, compassion, joy, and justice for a few years only to see them dry up and perish on the vine. This ebb and flow is simultaneously inevitable and vexing. Like friends in AA ask: why do some respond to the 12 Steps while others flounder and even die? "Only Thou knowest," replied the prophet Elijah. 

And that is what slowly dawned on me in the desert sun: now is a time for saying good-bye. Trusting the mystery more than my habits. Cynthia Bourgeault has written that seeing with our heart is becoming still enough to discern what God's purpose for our lives might be and trusting it. Our heart has little to do with what gives us a buzz, and everything to do with linking our deepest joys with God's mercy, compassion, and truth. Sitting in the silence I heard this passage from Scripture speak up: "I have come so that your joy may be full." Complete, as in filled full, but also full as in thorough or saturated. God's love has come so that we might live into our truest, most creative, and tender selves from the inside out. As one who periodically spends time with others doing "spiritual direction" - listening carefully for where the Spirit may be calling to another - I know this to mean making choices. St. Paul says that all things may be possible, but not all things are equally important. Or nourishing. Or even holy.

One truth this pilgrimage is clarifying is why I am bringing some commitments to a close. Another has to do with joy, trust, rest, and grace as this treasured Scripture puts it: Follow me, all ye who are tired and heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Follow me and you will learn to trust the unforced rhythms of grace. This is my season to trust the unforced rhythms of grace. And there is one more insight: I need to be present and close as Di wrestles through her health challenges. We clearly do not know what is to come except to say it will be challenging. As we get ready to celebrate our 25th anniversary, I want to do all I can to support and care for this sweet soul. This has been a pilgrimage into the mystery. The late Henri Nouwen speaks to me at this moment when he writes:

Most of us distrust God. Most of us think of God as a fearful, punitive authority or as an empty, powerless nothing. Jesus’ core message was that God is neither a powerless weakling nor a powerful boss, but a lover, whose only desire is to give us what our hearts most desire. To pray is to listen to that voice of love. That is what obedience is all about. The word obedience comes from the Latin word ob-audire, which means “to listen with great attentiveness.” Without listening, we become “deaf” to the voice of love. The Latin word for deaf is surdus. To be completely deaf is to be absurdus, yes, absurd. When we no longer pray, no longer listen to the voice of love that speaks to us in the moment, our lives become absurd lives in which we are thrown back and forth be- tween the past and the future. If we could just be, for a few minutes each day, fully where we are, we would indeed discover that we are not alone and that the One who is with us wants only one thing: to give us love.