rambling thoughts on a stunning september morning...

"Being a monk in the world means for me to live slowly in a fast-paced culture, to treasure the gift of 'being' in a world that says my value comes from 'doing,' to linger over life's moments, and recognize that what I seek most deeply is already here waiting to be revealed."
(Dr. Christine Valters Paintner, Sacred Seasons: A Yearlong Journey through the Celtic Wheel of the Year - A Self-Study Online Retreat)

This quote resonates with my soul - and my world, too during this season of solitude and contagion - a monk in the world. In our semi-cloistered secular context, where interaction with the world is mostly virtual, I take comfort in communing with a tree in the wetlands behind our house. This morning I noticed she is starting to radiate colors beyond her regular vibrant green.

Over the course of this week, she will suddenly shine with a golden hue that seems to pulsate. This is a most remarkable tree and I cherish her annual journey of transformation. It is a small sign of stability amidst our current social, spiritual, political, and ecological chaos.

As I gazed upon the wetlands this morning, taking in its changes and watching the various birds coast among the trees, I realized that my eyes were praying in the spirit of gratitude. That happens sometimes: part of me beyond my conscious mind returns thanks to God spontaneously. Perhaps you've sensed this, too? At times it is my voice - and I discover I'm singing in thanksgiving. Other times it is my hands - especially while digging in the garden. Savoring a blueberry muffin or some excellent hot tea, it is my mouth and tongue singing praise. And certainly my ears regular celebrate the grandeur of creation as one song after another touches my heart. Currently, I am loving one that comes from the Community of Iona's rendering of a South African tune:  Come Bring Your Burdens to God:

I don't know about you, but at least right now, I find I am hungry for signs of God's loving presence in the world. Fr. Richard Rohr recently encouraged us to intentionally shut down any obsession/addiction with the 24/7 news cycles by prayerfully limiting our intake to no more than 60 minutes of so-called information total each day. That includes smart phone updates, radio/internet streaming as well as TV. As the US lurches toward the November election, what passes for news will become increasingly sensational and troubling. Call it self-care or contemplative discernment, but I feel the need to follow the good friar's advice. Jesus was not kidding when he told us in the Sermon on the Mount:

So do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring worries of its own. Today’s trouble is enough for today.do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air; they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? And can any of you by worrying add a single hour to your span of life? And why do you worry about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not clothed like one of these. But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you—you of little faith? Therefore do not worry, saying, ‘What will we eat?’ or ‘What will we drink?’ or ‘What will we wear?’ For it is the Gentiles who strive for all these things; and indeed your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things. But strive first for the kingdom of God and God's

righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.

I spent a little time this morning singing through the tunes we'll use this afternoon

at the L'Arche Ottawa Friday Zoom prayer gathering. Currently our theme has to do with being on a spiritual journey. In addition to the South African song, we'll sing "Prends ma vie" (take my hands, Lord) and "Bless the Lord my soul" (a Taize favorite.) The community will celebrate various anniversaries, lift one another up in spontaneous prayer and I will offer this short homily.

TEXT: Six days later, Jesus took with him Peter and James and his brother John and led them up a high mountain, by themselves. And he was transfigured before them, his face shone like the sun, his clothes became dazzling white. Suddenly there appeared to them Moses and Elijah, talking with him. Then Peter said to Jesus, “Lord, it is good for us to be here; if you wish, I will make three dwellings here, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” While he was still speaking, suddenly a bright cloud overshadowed them, and from the cloud a voice said, “This is my Son, the Beloved; with him I am well pleased; listen to him!” When the disciples heard this, they fell to the ground and were overcome by fear. But Jesus came and touched them, saying, “Get up and do not be afraid.” And when they looked up, they saw no one except Jesus himself alone. (Matthew 17: 1-8)

REFLECTION: Our whole lives are a journey of spirit and flesh. Knowing this helps me accept that I don’t have to have it all figured out right now. Or ever. In fact, I can’t grasp the fullness of God’s love in my life except by living it fully, pausing to listen for clues along the way, and trusting that when my race is run God will embrace me with love forever. God’s grace encourages me to learn from my failings and fears as well as my gifts and joys.

Peter, James, and John in today’s reading remind us of ourselves. Jesus invites them up the mountain with him for prayer. Whenever mountains show up in the Bible, it’s our clue to pay attention: they are symbols that important insights from God, like the Ten Commandments or the Sermon on the Mount, are coming. Jesus and his friends have a mystical mountain top experience where Jesus speaks with the fathers of Judaism about faith. Moses led Jewish slaves out of Egypt and received the Ten Commandments from God, and, Elijah was a holy prophet who welcomed the wounded of the world into God’s loving community. As this extraordinary prayer ends, Peter is so happy he shouts: “Let’s stay up on the mountain, Jesus. I’ll build us shelter so we can be with Moses and Elijah forever.” You may recall that Jesus liked to call his friend Petras – the Rock in Greek – because Peter’s feelings often carried him away like a stone rolling down a hill. “Slow down,” Jesus replied, “we have important work to do down in the valley, too.” To make sure Peter understands, the voice of the Lord proclaims: “Jesus is my Beloved. Listen to him.” This terrified the disciples who fell to the ground, hid their faces, and trembled. When the darkness and fear passed, they looked up and saw Jesus only.

Our spiritual journeys are much like Peter’s: we know excitement as well as fear and confusion – and sometimes we get carried away, too. To stay grounded, we’re asked to look to Jesus. He leads us up the mountains for refreshment and back down to the valleys for love and service. He never scolds when we’re afraid or confused, but quietly invites us to trust God’s love. By trust, we don’t have to “get” it all right now. St. Paul liked to say, “Now we see as through a glass darkly, later we shall see face to face.” By trust we know that God will go with us in love on the mountains of life as well as the valleys. And when our journey is over, God will shower us with grace forever.

Two recent quotes caught my attention after reviewing the homily. The first comes from St. Fred Rogers of the Neighborhood who said: "Our society is much more interested in information than wonder, in noise than silence... and we need much more wonder and silence in our lives." The other is from a Jungian therapist, Leya Aylin, who wrote:

When there is no cure yet to be found, no solution in sight, no help coming over the horizon, when there are no techniques, no teachings, no rulebooks to guide you, when the comforts of false hope and guarantees are gone, along with any promise that you’ll make it to the other side, when healing or transcendence or miracles have not come and the only way out is through the flames, the smoke, the rising water, the heartache, the despair, when there is nothing left to hold onto… hold on. 

Although no one may applaud you or call you heroic or see what heart, what soul, what bravery it takes, although there are no books to read on "The Power of Hanging In There" and really no advice on how to do it (just that still small voice within) although you won’t see it romanticized or spiritualized or as a goal on any vision board probably anywhere, although you may be filled with hopelessness and grief and fear, and only barely able to keep on, don’t be fooled, sometimes the soul’s most vital, most courageous, most sacred, and most difficult task is to just hold on.

And I was able to complete my Sunday, "Small is Holy" notes for the live stream reflection, too. It is a meditation on the wisdom, voice, presence, and power of our rivers. Using poetry and song, biblical interpretation and silence, my focus will be upon how I have learned to listen and respond to the insights of our river., the might Housatonic. This prayer/poem by Jan Richardson speaks to what I am trying to say - and while she uses the metaphor of a road - and I am looking to a river - the similarities are striking.

THE HARDEST BLESSING
If we cannot
lay aside the wound,
then let us say
it will not always
bind us.

Let us say
the damage
will not eternally
determine our path.

Let us say
the line of our life
will not always travel
along the places
we are torn.

Let us say
that forgiveness
can take some practice,
can take some patience,
can take a long
and struggling time.

Let us say
that to offer
the hardest blessing,
we will need
the deepest grace;
that to forgive
the sharpest pain,
we will need
the fiercest love;
that to release
the ancient ache,
we will need
new strength
for every day.

Let us say
the wound
will not be
our final home—

that through it
runs a road,
a way we would not
have chosen
but on which
we will finally see
forgiveness,
so long practiced,
coming toward us,
shining with the joy
so well deserved.