pray ALL ways: living as a gift for others...

The late John O’Donohue, contemporary Celtic prophet of blessed memory, once wrote that there are at least two layers to the aphorism: beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Usually, he taught, this means that our sense of beauty is utterly subjective for “there is no accounting for taste because each person's perspective is different.” There is, however, another more subtle insight:

If our manner of looking (could) become beautiful, then beauty would be visible and shine forth for us intrinsically. We (would be delighted) to discover beauty in unexpected places where the ungraceful eye would never linger. The graced eye can glimpse beauty anywhere, for beauty does not reserve itself for special elite moments or instances; it does not wait for perfection but is pre-sent already secretly in everything. For when we beautify our gaze, the grace of hidden beauty becomes our joy and our sanctuary.

So, too with prayer. At least in the Western tradition, prayer tends to be taught as a series of hierarchical steps to follow not unlike Jacob’s Ladder to heaven: you start off on the bottom rung with simple requests to God – now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep – slowly add more complex liturgical words like the Lord’s Prayer or Hail Mary, until eventually you make hymn lyrics your own before stepping up to spontaneous phrases. There are even layered formulas and outlines to follow if you want to master prayer in the Western tradition. I remember an internship where I was given a prayer recipe to practice called ACTS: Adoration, Confession, Thanksgiving, and Supplication. It was helpful, functional, and oh so utilitarian as is the charism of Western culture. In our realm, in all manner of things, we strive for simple, practical solutions that begin at the bottom and incrementally move higher.

Over time, however, I’ve learned that just as with beauty, so too with intimacy with God: there are a host of other, more organic ways to pray. That’s what Fr. Ed Hays invites us to experience in his incarnational guidebook: Pray ALL Ways. How can our lives become living prayers that bring blessings to birth for others while nourishing our own deepest spiritual intentions at the same time? That is, how can we become a living gift to others and God in real time? “As we reflect upon the art of gifting as prayer,” he writes, “we can find no better place to begin than with those three mysterious magi who once brought gifts to the infant Jesus.” As our “pray ALL ways” series continues, I’m going to use Fr. Ed’s overview today to high-light three insights about living as a gift that we may have overlooked in times past:

+ First, the significance of gifts and how they differ from tools and necessities.

+ Second, the way God’s first revealed word in creation, nature, can be our mentor for becoming gift bearers in the manner of Jesus.

+ And third, why reclaiming the art of living as a prayerful gift matters personally and publicly as these weird, post lockdown days unfold.

 So, let’s open our hearts together in prayer as I ask for the inspiration of the Spirit of Holiness to guide my reflection:

Open my lips, O Lord, and my mouth shall proclaim your praise. Create in me a clean heart, O God, and restore a whole and loving spirit within me. Cast me not away from your presence and take not your Holy Spirit from me. Give to me the joy of your salvation and sustain in me a willing spirit. May my words and intentions affirm that we are ALL made in God’s image, befriended by Christ, and empowered by the Holy Spirit. May my words affirm the goodness that is in the heart of every person, planted more deeply than any or all of our wounds. And may my reflection celebrate the miracle and wonder of God’s unfolding purpose being realized each day in all of us and all of creation to the glory of the sacred: Creator, Christ, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

The first question Fr. Ed asks addresses is what it means to live like the Magi – who brought the infant Christ gifts of gold, incense, and myrrh at the start of St. Matthew’s gospel – and why it is significant that these wisdom bearers came from the East rather than the West? Sorting this out will, I trust, articulate some of the differences between tools and gifts – and why this matters.

One of the obvious insights implied here has to do with the spirituality of the Magi as well as their ethnic origins. Clearly, they are NOT first century Jews – they might be categorized as gentiles which in 21^st century Western culture simply means those NOT of the Jewish nation – but back in the day could – and most likely did – connote those who are considered pagans or even heathens not spiritual mentors to be taken seriously. Certainly, some in the early days of the Jesus movement were more concerned with the non-kosher foods eaten by Gentiles, their unclean worship practices that included the veneration of idols, as well as aspects of their sexuality. These factors took on more significance than the intentions of the Magi’s hearts or the gifts they reverently carried for two years through the desert to honor a baby messiah born into anonymity.

To be fair, there was rabbinic ambiguity about Gentiles before this era: many learned rabbis taught that Gentiles were ethically exempt from the purity codes of Jewish law – they gener-ally lived separate lives and were not to be judged by the same ethical codes as those living under the Mosaic covenant. But by the beginning of the first century CE, Jewish rabbis began to conclude that all Gentile men were to be considered ritually unclean either because they did not honor the laws requiring abstinence from sexual intercourse during a woman’s men-strual impurity or because some Gentile men engaged in acts of sodomy. What’s more, as divisions between the early followers of Jesus and the rabbis of Jerusalem and the Diaspora grew more tense and polarized, some were scandalized that pagan, Persian astrologers were given a prominent role in the emerging Christian story.

Consequently, Jewish commentary began to emphasize a new condemnation for consulting with soothsayers, sorcerers, or necromancers as noted in both Deuteronomy and Leviticus. So, too, the ridicule of stargazers spoken by the ancient prophets of Israel. Cumulatively, this disdain grew into judgement where even those ethnically identified as Chaldeans – those from Babylon – were all considered untrustworthy and unclean astrologers. This suggests that the inclusion of the Magi into the birth narrative of Jesus was not only a theological pronouncement concerning the radical spiritual, racial, ethnic, and cultural inclusivity of the Jesus Movement, but also a blunt recognition of the conflict brewing between the old guard Jewish Christians and those entering the new covenant from non-Jewish cultures, traditions, and practices.

+ St. Luke, written about the same time as St. Matthew, was inclined to sanitize, romanticize, and exaggerate the inclusivity in the early church. In the book of Acts, he tells us that all believers were together in harmony, sharing resources with one another and daily adding members to their community.  In the next breath, however, he writes that St. Peter had God strike dead a married couple who withheld a portion of their re-sources from the community. Clearly it was not just one or the other but both/and. And should we doubt, the letters of St. Paul document the intense disagreement and polarization that existed between members in-side the early Jesus Movement as well as those outside the fold, too.

In much the way many of us learned to speak of America’s Founding Fathers as well as our Constitution, emphasizing only the most noble of intentions and never confessing the tragic and incomplete promise of freedom revealed by the brutal legacy of slavery, so too parts of the Bible’s mythmaking. The inclusion of the Magi at the start of St. Matthew’s gospel celebrates God’s welcome of Gentiles into the blessings of grace in the West Church, as well as  Christ’s baptism and calling into ministry in the East, and the on-going conflicts encountered as they tried to live into this holy promise. That’s one part of the story.

Another has to do with Fr. Ed’s emphasis on the difference between Western utilitarian culture and Eastern sacramentality. He puts it like this: if the Magi had come from the West, these men “would not have been kings but rather professors and no doubt department heads from different universit-ies.” Then again, knowing our Western mentality, “we would have probably sent a committee, an adoration committee… composed of some of our most intelligent people” who would’ve come bearing:

Practical gifts for this poor family that was living in such dire poverty. These modern magi of the West would have carried boxes of groceries, warm clothing and perhaps even a propane stove. As Western wise ones, they would have thought of something way more useful than incense for poor people living in a barn! Instead of myrrh or perfume, they would have presented to Jesus, Mary, and Joseph insulated underwear. To our Western way of logic, to give to the poor golden gifts instead of practical necessities smacks of stupidity. But thanks be to God the first magi were from the East not the West – and that they were wise one and therefore people guided by wisdom.

There she is again, Lady Wisdom: If you joined us last week, I spoke at length of Lady Wisdom as the feminine incarnation of God’s love – the intuitive, compassionate, creative, and playful force of grace – who, when embraced by the masculine gift of linear thinking and down-to-earth logic lives into holy balance with songs as well as tears, dance alongside mourning, birth, life, and death as sacred gifts guided by a time for every season under heaven. The Magi are wisdom people. And a part of sacramental balance, writes Fr. Ed, is understanding “the briefness of this mortal life. The people of the East know that it is necessary to acquire as much pleasure from life as possible. Per-haps because their culture is older than ours, they know that time is far too short to delay the enjoy-ment of it.” They make a distinction between tools and gifts to which Fr. Ed adds:

So, yes, there will be practical matters to attend to: we must have homes to live in, food to eat, clothing for our bodies. (We must have tools.) But we have souls as well and this spiritual, or inner, person has needs to be nourished, too (with gifts.) Just as the body has needs, so has the heart. We have a need for the incense and perfumes of life as well as the gold of beauty. And true wisdom knows it is the proper care of the entire person – the inward and outward – that renders living blessed.

+ Back in 1982, I first journeyed to what was then Soviet Russia for conversations with Russian Christians about people-to-people peace-making. I had never spent any time inside Roman Catholic, let alone Eastern Orthodox, churches as I’m a child of New England’s Congregational Way. Our sanctuaries were simple, without visual distractions from the Bible as God’s only revealed word for our lives. So, seeing the intricacy of Russian Orthodox sanctuaries, with their gold encased iconostasis that reached 20 feet above our heads, was mind blowing. So, too the elaborate sacred art and flowers to say nothing of the physicality of their prayer that was saturated with incense and candles as the faithful crossed themselves and some prayed prostrate on the floor in humble devotion. It was all so sensual…

+  … and I loved it. I fell in love with icons – visual prayers for our eyes, writes Henri Nouwen, for those times when our hearts and souls can no longer form words to express our love or grief. I began to study Orthodox liturgy – and incorporate simple chants, iconography, and liturgical art into my life at home – and later in the churches I served. The Eastern Orthodox taught me the difference between tools and gifts and about beauty as a gift to and from the sacred.

 Years later, Di and I were in Edinburgh for the 20^th anniversary of my ordination when a sudden rainstorm drove us into a small Scottish Anglican sanctuary just off the High Street. No one else was present so we quietly walked around the candle lit contemplative room in reverent awe. In a side chapel, there was a massive triptych painting of folded linen. Nothing else. Just folded linen and about 15 rows of dark wooden prayer stools. It was humbling, ecstatic, calming, and challenging all at once for this work of liturgical art evoked both the sacrifice and death of Christ as well as his resurrection simultaneously. After sitting awe-struck before this gift for 10 minutes of silence, I found a description written by the Anglican bishop who likened this painting to the per-fumed oil St. Mary Magdalene poured upon the feet and head of Jesus as she anointed him with oil and love. “You may argue about the extravagance of this painting. You may complain that its cost could have been used to feed the hungry,” the bishop wrote. But consider what the Lord told his disciples in St. Mark’s gospel in the 14^th chapter:

Let her alone; why do you trouble her? She has performed a good service and blessed me. You will always have the poor with you, and you can show kindness to them whenever you wish; but you will not always have me. She has done what she could; she has anointed my body before-hand for its burial. Truly I tell you, wherever the good news is proclaimed in the whole world, what she has done will be told in remembrance of her.

Eastern traditions have much to teach us about the gift of being and sharing beauty: gifts go well beyond the utilitarian functions as tools. They feed our souls and nourish our spirits so that we might re-enter creation refreshed. Small wonder that in another context Jesus told his friends: Remember, we do not live on bread alone. On that same first trip to the Orthodox East, taking the train OUT of Russia into what was still Communist Poland was eye opening for me in another way. In Russia – and even more so in the GDR, East Germany, everything that was built after the revolution from houses to stores and parks was functional. It was all utilitarian, practical, and ugly: stocky, blocky, boring building without imagination or soul. But in Poland, stepping off the train in Warsaw was a shock as flowers filled the station and everywhere you looked people were boldly splashing color into the official uniformity of the regime.

Outside one Catholic church, I stumbled upon a Solidarity protest where a capella hymns were sung and the bold red and white Solidarity banner was unfurled for 5 glorious minutes. Then everyone dispersed quickly to avoid the state police and what had been an orgy of sensuality slipped back into ugly communist gray functionality. That was a living lesson in Christ’s reminder that we do NOT live by bread alone. Fr. Ed’s second point about living as gifts and sharing gifts with a world starved for balance and beauty is that: “We in the West must learn to get into the center of life instead of living only on the edges of it, on the surface of what we see, taste, touch, and hear.” Quoting the mystic of science, Teilhard de Chardin, he writes: “By your incarnation, O Lord, all matter has become incarnate.” Meaning a holistic spirituality is engaged with material things sensually so that we’re able to take pleasure in all of creation rather than trying to live on bread alone.

Time and again Jesus calls us to renew an intimacy with God’s first incarnate word, not himself, but nature. Look at the lilies of the field, or the sparrows in the wind. God has adorned them in more majesty and beauty than all of the glories of Solomon’s temple. This almost promiscuous use of color and diversity in nature is overwhelming and ecstatic for those with eyes to see. Sadly, “our historical spiritual formation has made us suspicious of enjoying the world of nature,” he writes, “not to mention that the moral theology of the three little pigs warns us against taking pleasure in the luxuries of life. According to this formation, eating, sleeping, making love, and the other uses of our senses are NOT so much to be enjoyed as endured. We fear the sensual enjoyment of the natural world lest it steal us away from being spiritual.”

Which is NOT the spirituality of Jesus who was regularly condemned for favoring the feast more than the fast. The Magi, too, ask us to learn from the wisdom of God revealed in nature. In the material. In the bounty of creation that is all around us – and then incarnate it, too. Henri Nouwen put it like this: “The visible world is… the veil of the invisible world… all that exists or happens visibly, conceals and suggests a system of persons, facts, and events beyond itself.”

How differently we would live if we were constantly aware of this veil and sensed in our whole being how nature is ever ready for us to hear and see the great story of the Creator’s love, to which it points. The plants and animals with whom we live teach us about birth, growth, maturation, and death, about the need for gentle care, and especially about the importance of patience and hope… It is sad that in our days we are less connected with nature and we no longer allow nature to minister to us. We so easily limit ministry to work for people by people. But we could do an immense service to our world if we would let nature heal, counsel, and teach again. I often wonder if the sheer artificiality and ugliness with which many people are surrounded are not as bad as or worse than their interpersonal problems.

For the past few months, I’ve slowly been pondering a YES Magazine devoted to what they call an “ecological civilization.” Jeremy Lent synthesizes the essence of this sacred and political wisdom with the term “mutually beneficial symbioses” meaning that nature shows us a relationship between “two parties where each contributes something that the other lacks – and both gain as a result.” He explains this mutually beneficial symbioses with a simple beauty:

There is no zero-sum game in this. The contributions of each party create a whole that is greater than the sum or its parts. Whenever you take a walk in the woods, for example, eat a meal, or take a dip in the ocean, you’re experiencing the miracle of nature’s symbioses. Plants transform sunlight into chemical energy that provides food for other creatures, whose waste then fertilizes the soil the plants rely on. Underground fungal networks contribute essential chemicals for tree in return for nutrients they can’t make for themselves…

He goes on to make the connection between the wisdom and miracles of nature and our human experience of symbiosis like this: “In human culture, symbiosis translates into foundation principles of fairness and justice, ensuring that the efforts and skills people contribute to the common good are rewarded equitably. In an ecological civilization, relationships between workers and employers, producers and consumers, humans and animals would thus be based on each party gaining in value rather than on group exploiting the other.”

Mary Oliver says much the same thing in this poem: 

Who made the world? Who made the swan, and the black bear? Who made the grasshopper? This grasshopper, I mean—the one who has flung herself out of the grass, the one who is eating sugar out of my hand, who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down— who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.

Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face. Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away. I don't know exactly what a prayer is. I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass, how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields, which is what I have been doing all day. Tell me, what else should I have done?

Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon? Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?

Lady Wisdom teaches this by insisting that nature is our first teacher – and first gift-giver – and subsequent mystics – Jesus included – show that learning from nature not only strengthens our ability to see and share beauty but does so in ways that enliven our hearts. Fr. Ed suggests that the Magi not only learned this gift from nature and Lady Wisdom but documented the sacred balance of beauty incarnated in nature by blending their physical gifts with emotional and spiritual care too. “Along with the Magi’s gifts of gold, incense, and perfume, these three wise men manifested another oriental custom of linking our spiritual enjoyment of life with a commitment to courtesy. In the Middle East, ceremonial behavior that honors the feelings of others is a high priority.” Note that their journey included paying respect to King Herod as the local ruler.

“Their adoration before Jesus was part of this same cultural attitude: adoration, bowing, and other manifestations of gracious behavior are rarely practiced by modern people. Adoration, the physical expression of respect, is no longer part of our consciousness.” When we fail to show reverence for one another in the flow of our ordinary lives, it shouldn’t come as a surprise that we forget how to be courteous and reverent in worship or public functions, too.

+ Consider the wild contrast between the public behavior of Presidents Trump and Biden. I believe that our once groper-in-chief showed the world the WORST of American ruthlessness – a selfishness that is only ME first, without any sense of decorum, respect, or grace. Pushing his way to the forefront of a G-8 photo op is but one minor example of what it looks like when we lose touch with respect and ethical integrity. Compare this with President and Mrs. Biden visiting England’s queen or at the next G-8 summit: civility, humility, and respect was the rule of the day rather than crass opportunism. “In the East,” Fr. Ed notes, “where people live very close to one another on narrow streets and travelers exist elbow to elbow, proximity created the need for a sacrament of consideration and courtesy.”

+ In the West, we might remember that “we do NOT live by bread alone…” whenever we’re jammed too close to one another: our lives might be fed as well by kind words and gracious behavior where expressions like ‘excuse me” recognize the sacred in the other.” We incarnate our devotion to God whenever we practice the sacrament of courtesy – living as a gift for an-other where we see the divine within the human – the beauty beyond just the demands of the moment – and honor a shared commitment to the fullness of life: We who often feel like machines need to know that by courtesy and gentle manners we become  royal people like the Magi who knew that people are not things to be used and discarded.

We just marked the 6^th month anniversary of the January 6^th insurrection fomented by a crass president who continues to be the distillations of everything that is wrong with our rude, crude, careless, and cruel American culture.  He was a leader so devoid of courtesy and kindness, so blind to his own arrogance and stupidity, and so obsessed with instant gratification that he not only endangered the safety of the hard-working men and women policing the US Capitol, but the very foundation of our experiment in democracy as well.  Wendell Berry recently wrote that: We have lived our lives by the assumption that what was good for us individually would be good for the world. We have been wrong. We must now change our lives so that it will be possible to live by the contrary assumption, that what is good for the world will be good for us. And that will require that we know the world and learn what is good for it.

Living as gift-givers rather than a wealth-takers matters publicly, it matters politically, spiritually, ethically, and emotionally, too.  As we recall that we do NOT live by bread alone, we honor beauty. We recognize that we “need perfume, red wine, roses in the winter, good books, poetry, music, incense, respect, kindness and the time to enjoy them all slowly, sip by sip.” This is the mystical magic at the heart of Jesus and at the core of his living body in community.  A friend sent me this quote a few weeks ago from the Quaker scholar Douglas Steele: “To listen another’s soul into a condition of disclosure and discovery may be the greatest service that any human being ever performs for another.” Lord, may it be so among us.

praying with our noses...

PRAYING ALL WAYS:  Praying Through the Nose: Notes from my June 20th reflection on Small is Holy

According to one of our sacred stories of origin found in the Hebrew Tanakh, human existence began when the Lord God formed humankind out of the earth’s clay and blew into our nostrils the holy breath of life. In this the Scripture says we became nephesh chayyah: living beings animated by the spirit of divine holiness as well as earthly humility. The Genesis story says that human beings are simultaneously of the heavens and the hummus – earth and sky bound together – formed from the same matter as all animals, birds, fish, and plants yet imbued with an additional gift: the ability to consciously sanctify our words, choices, and actions. That is what the rabbis tell us took place when we received God’s breath:

On the day that the Lord God made the earth and the heavens, when no shrub of the field was yet in the earth and no herbs had yet sprung up because the Lord God had not yet sent rain upon the earth and there was no one to till the soil… so, the Lord God formed a man from the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life: in this the creature formed in mud became a living being. The Lord God then planted a garden in Eden, in the east, and put the liv-ing being into it. Out of the ground the Lord God then made to grow every tree that is pleasant to the sight and good for food, the tree of life was placed in the midst of the garden along with the tree of the knowledge of good and evil… In time, the Lord God said, “It is not good for man to be alone; I will make a fitting helper for him…” (and) casting a deep sleep upon the man, the Lord God took one of his ribs and fashioned woman – bone of his bone and flesh of his flesh – that they might become one flesh.

In part three of the Pray ALL Ways series, now that we’ve talked about praying with our eyes and our tears, I want to use three canonical texts to consider what it might mean for us to intentionally pray with our nose: Specifically, I want to use the second creation story of Genesis, the Sermon on the Mount in St. Matthew’s gospel where Jesus speaks of constructing a mature and balanced spirituality, and the poetry of Psalm 141 where prayer ascends to the Lord like incense rising in the Temple.

To help with the creation story, I’ve turned to four, time-tested scholars who continue to inform my practice of Bible interpretation: Robert Coote and David Ord from San Francisco Theological Seminary have done ground breaking work re: the sociology of ancient Hebrew religion; Professor Emeritus of Old Testament at Columbia Theological Seminary, Walter Brueggemann, has given his life to creating careful, nuanced, and artistically crafted analyses of the Law, the Prophets, and the Psalms of ancient Israel; and Karen Armstrong, founder of the Charter for Compassion, continues to extract profound wisdom from within the sacred literature of the three Abrahamic faith traditions. As a Bible geek, my soul is refreshed digging into the etymology of words or the foundation of religious roots.

Coote and Ord remind us that there is no such thing as a generalized creation story: every story of origin whether Akkadian, Ugaritic, Babylonian, Egyptian, Jewish, Islamic, Aztec, Hindu, Yorba, Zimbabwean, Chinese, Cherokee, Cree, or Inuit ALL address issues of a group’s relationship to the earth, the status of people in that society, the role of work, the function of leadership, and how people were expected to live in service to the sacred. When it comes to the creation texts of Mesopotamia, our spiritual ancestors borrowed from Babylon, Egypt as well as the Ugaritic myth-ology of the Mediterranean Syrians. Coote and Ord point out that when it comes to our Bible, each of these influences show up not only in the two most famous creation stories in Genesis One and Two, but also in the multiple other creation myths scattered through Exodus, the Psalms of King David, the prophetic poetry of Isaiah, Jeremiah and Amos and other worship texts formalized and sung in ancient Israel after the exile in Babylon.

The notion of receiving a sacred breath from the divine – part of what it means to receive the holy through our nose – has inspired people since at least 4000 BCE. Armstrong adds understanding to our tradition telling us that there were three main waves of wandering Arameans who eventually gave shape to ancient Israel: In about 1850 BCE, a group of Mesopotamian settlers leaving what we now know as Iraq headed towards the Mediterranean and eventually made a new home in Hebron which in what is now central Israel. They were associated with the patriarch Abraham. “A second wave of immigration linked to Abraham’s grandson, Jacob, settled in Shechem, which is now the Arab town of Nablus on the West Bank.” In time, the sons of Jacob – who became the ancestors of the 12 tribes of Israel – emigrated to Egypt during a time of famine. Some 600 years later, in about 1200 BCE, “the third wave of Hebrew settlement claiming to be descendants of Abraham arrive in Canaan from Egypt saying… that they had been enslaved in Egypt but had been liberated by a deity called YHWH and their leader Moses.” Our first reading today, the second creation story from Genesis, was shaped by this last group of settlers, those following the desert god of fire, YHWH, a name that is always translated from Hebrew into English as the Lord God. We can safely say that THIS myth is at least three thousand years old.

And Brother Brueggemann writes in his Introduction to the Old Testament: The Canon and the Christian Imagination that: Genesis One is actually the second myth of our origins even if it comes first in the Bible. During their captivity in Babylon beginning in 586 BCE, the deposed priestly class in exile from Jerusalem began to re-imagine their religion. In time they borrowed and revised a 3000-year-old Mesopotamian creation story that helped them: 1) re-establish a sense of an ordered universe for a frightened people, 2) reclaim the centrality of Sabbath for a new Jewish identity, and 3) renew a culture of worship for the faithful after the destruction of the Temple upended tradition.

For some, sharing this Biblical background material might seem excessive, irrelevant, and perhaps even arcane. We are a utilitarian people who like to cut to the chase. But if the past 16 months of pandemic living have taught me anything, it is the importance of slowing down to take stock of what is real. As a contemporary person of faith, therefore, it has become increasingly important for me to own the truth within my spiritual roots given the proliferation of sloppy thinking, Biblical ill-iteracy, the depth and breadth of our QAnon culture of conspiracy theories, and the brutish fear-mongering and violence born of our this new fundamentalism. Knowing where our stories of origin come from makes it clear that authentic Biblical interpretation has NEVER advocated literalism. NEVER.

Not among the founding fathers and mothers of Judaism nor their heirs who followed the spirit into Christianity. In about 400 CE, St. Augustine of Hippo wrote that: “When there is a conflict between a proven truth about nature and a particular reading of Scripture, an alter-native reading of Scripture must be sought.” Authentic Biblical interpretation, you see, always borrows insights, poetry, wisdom, creativity, and common sense from culture, science, history, and sacred presence in order to bring life to older truths within an ever-changing reality. James Russell Lowell, in one of the great hymns of New England, sang: New occasions teach new duties; time makes ancient good uncouth; they must upward still, and onward, who would keep abreast of Truth. Pastor Emeritus of Glide Memorial United Methodist Church in San Francisco, Cecil Williams, was more blunt: The only thing that NEVER changes is what’s DEAD. If you can’t go with the flow and follow the Holy Spirit into the realm of life right now: you’re ALREADY dead. So, for us the question is not is their life after death; rather, we want to know is there life BEFORE we die!?!

Like Joseph Campbell, Ursula Le Quinn, Howard Thurman or Lucille Clifton, I trust that there is still value within the ancient images, symbols, and insights of our tradition. But we must work through their dross before we can extract their gold. This is one of the blessings I have learned from the realm of rabbis who keep working theirs text for generations until a word of wisdom for their generation has been discerned. And when it comes to the sacred breath God blew into the nostrils of our primal ancestors, two gems from the rabbis are worthy of comment today.

First, they remind us that it is God’s breath that gives us life: “L’chaim – to life!” is a standard toast offered in Hebrew when a couple announces their engagement. Nourishing a life of integrity has roots in our creation story where the sacred shares something like mouth-to-mouth resuscitation with the mud creature – except in Genesis 2 it’s a sharing from mouth-to-nostril, ok? Obviously one truth is that breathing is essential for life – and God set our lives in motion with this gift – but the rabbis have pondered, prayed, played, and pushed deeper into what it might mean for humanity to be filled with God’s breath from the beginning.

+ Some have noted that there are Biblical stories where nephesh – a living being – is used inter-changeably with ruach – spirit or breath – suggesting that in the beginning the Holy One breathed the Holy Spirit into us. In the Septuagint, the Hebrew Bible translated into Greek and widely used by Jews living outside of Israel, nephesh is translated as psyche meaning that God’s breath within us brings a healing to our souls.

+ There are times when nephesh suggests refreshment as in Exodus 31 where after creating the heavens and the earth in six days, the Lord rested and was refreshed by the inner spirit of life. And, over the centuries, the quality and vitality of this life force came to be associated with the essence of our blood. To consciously live as if God’s breath had been poured into us is to trust the grace of the Holy Spirit: it is to construct a life of integrity with a healthy passion for justice, a rhythm saturated with Sabbath rest, and committed to wisdom and truth.

Second, the rabbis teach that God’s breath fills us with a sacramental awareness that we either honor or neglect: when God breathed the Spirit into our ancestors’ nostrils, the sacred filled us with a sacra-mental commitment to live in a manner that distinguishes us from all other living beings. Beyond instinct, beyond habit, beyond what is utilitarian or expedient, the Lord God gave us the ability and knowledge of how to live in a way that sanctifies our existence. 

+ THIS is what they tell us separates human beings from the law of the jungle and the red tooth and claw and tooth of savage violence and merciless competition.  Once upon a time, it was believed that human communication is what made us categorically different from the rest of nature. Today we know that ALL living beings communicate: trees, plants, animals, fish, pets, even molecules and microscopic life talk to one another. And while our culture is still woefully anthropocentric, science asserts that: “Once we have established that animals, birds (and plant life) can communicate with each other, the level of their language sophistication becomes immaterial. As primitive as their interactions may be, the mere fact that they interact at all reduces the difference between human and animal language to a quantitative measure, as opposed to a qualitative one.”

+Increasingly, we know that trees talk to one another in different ways, issuing warnings as well as encouragement and praise, as do mammals and the creatures of the sea. We also know that humans share at least 25% of our DNA with other life forms rendering the ancient Scriptures correct when it asserts that from the beginning, we are ALL nephesh chayyah: living beings created by the holy.

What has continued to intrigue Bible scholars – and the rabbis in particular - is why the oldest creation story says that only humankind received the sacred breath of God? What is the signifigance of this distinction? The medieval French rabbi, Rashi, who wrote commentary on the entire Hebrew Bible as well as the oral tradition known as the Talmud, answers this question by studying another text: the reunion of Joseph with the brothers who once threw him into a well to die and sold him into Egyptian slavery out of jealousy. That’s a time-tested way of making sense of confusing texts, you know: finding insights from one part of the Bible that helps explain another. Rashi’s studies are always filled with wise details, but it’s his conclusion that matters today.

+ You may recall the arc of the Joseph story where after the brothers dispose of Joseph, there comes a time of famine in Israel which forces the family – and many others – to flee to Egypt in search of food and shelter. After decades, Joseph has risen above his slave status to become an advisor to Pharoah wielding great power and authority in Egypt. When his estranged family meets Joseph again after years of separation, they do not recognize him as kin, but he knows them to be bone of his bone and flesh of his flesh. They come in great need – humble and powerless – and at first Joseph speaks to them through an interpreter. He’s been living among Egyptian royalty for decades and was cut off from his clan by his family’s violence. For a time, Joseph maintains his anonymity but eventually reveals himself to be their long lost and aggrieved brother – who finally speaks to them in their mother tongue Hebrew.

+ Some rabbis suggest this was the breakthrough moment: when Joseph returned to his Hebrew roots and shared a common language. But Rashi disagrees noting that mere communication is never enough. Rather, he teaches that it is Joseph’s desire to redeem the moment by asking his shame-filled brothers to trust and know him as he is now. Not as they once knew him shaped by their own greed, violence, and jealousy; but as he is now – a brother seeking reconciliation and offering forgiveness.

Rashi insists that mere communication is not salvific. Hebrew – or Arabic or French, English or Russian – is not what elevated and sanctified this situation. It was Joseph’s choice to become forgiving and live beyond his wounds that made the difference. Tapping into the spirit of holiness that God blew into the nostrils of his ancestors, Joseph’s choice of compassion and healing sanctified that moment just as God intended. A contemporary rabbi adds that: It is not our knowledge of Hebrew that turns us into anything special, nor is it our ability to communicate; nor, even, is it the volume and complexity of the words we use when we interact. Animals can also communicate with each other, and we are no different to them in that respect. No, the only thing that separates us from all other communicators is if our interactions elevate us and the world around us. 

All of this is why I’m down with Fr. Ed when he asks us to learn to pray through our nose and our breath-ng: our breath can connect us with our ability to sanctify life. Not automatically: It takes practice – and intentionality. It requires a conscious commitment to honor the spirit the Lord God breathed into us in the beginning.  The sacred name in that creation story – the Lord God or YHWH – gives us another clue about what it means to pray through our nose with our breath.

If you know the Moses story you may remember that after fleeing Egypt, Moses married into a shepherd’s family in the mountains, and became a man of solitude. One day, while tending his father-in-law’s flock an angel of the Lord appeared to him in the wilderness in a flame of fire in the midst of bush. Exodus tells us that when Moses looked: lo, the bush was burning but it was not consumed. The Lord God called out to Moses saying: “I am the God of your fathers and mothers, the God of Abraham and Sarah; the God of Isaac and Rebecca; the God Jacob, Leah and Rachel. I have seen the affliction of my people and heard their cries – and I have called out to you to help deliver them into freedom.”

As this sacred vision matured, Moses realized that while he was out in the desert mountains, his ordinary place of work, it had now become holy ground so in humility he took off his shoes. He then said, “If I go to the people of Israel and say the God of your parents has sent me, what name shall I give them?” To which the Lord God replied: Say to them I AM has sent me.” YHWH – the sacred name – I AM. The power of love and justice right now – not in the past nor the future – just I AM – right now.

+ There is a spiritual practice associated with the sacred name and it has to do with using our breath to ground us in rest, peace, and emotional balance in this present moment. It is a practice that links our flesh with the spirit, our breathing with our intentions, and our actions with our sacramental commitments.

+ This way of praying through our nose with our breath also links our spirituality to the best practices of science which has shown empirically how our anxieties and stress can be tamed by focusing our minds again on the gift of our breath. Sports medicine, for example, teaches athletes that if they need more energy and power during a long event, they should breathe shallowly through the mouth. If, however, the need is focus and resolving anxiety long, slow breaths through the nose will do the trick. Spiritual director, Presbyterian clergy, and life-coach, Nancy Wiens, writes:

The same science that helps athletes transform their stress also stands behind the ancient spiritual practice of Breathing Prayer. In my work as a spiritual director, I have seen the practice transform responses to both daily distress and complex trauma, as well as deepen devotion to God. Breathing Prayer provides a person of faith a conscious way to partner with God in healing physical, emotional, and spiritual wounds…The research of science into “voluntarily-regulated breathing practices” (VRBP) shows (these) breathing practices proved successful “in correcting imbalances of the stress response systems and facilitate emotion regulation, social engagement, bonding, and recovery from trauma.… (VRBPs) are particularly useful with those who have experienced symptoms of anxiety, insomnia, depression, stress- and trauma-related disorders, ADHD, schizophrenia, and substance abuse.” Intentional breathing interrupts the feedback that perpetuates the trauma, returning the nervous system to harmony.

I have come to believe this is part of what Jesus was teaching in the Sermon on the Mount when he told his friends that the goal of their spiritual practices was to become balanced and mature. The old text translates St Matthew 5: 48 as “be ye therefore perfect as your heavenly Father is perfect.” But let’s be clear: this translation has been a disaster reinforcing shame and confusion when the Lord’s words were meant to bring guidance and comfort.  The New Testament Greek word that is used in the verse is teleios which CAN imply perfection but only in the sense of something coming to completion. Maturation. Do you grasp the distinction?

Practically and spiritually speaking, Jesus is NOT telling us to try to obliterate our mistakes, our failings, or brokenness as if we could become spotless and pure. Rather, he’s encouraging us to make peace with our shadow, learn to manage and even gain control over our anxieties, live in harmony with our true selves so that like I AM we can be fully alive in this present moment instead of being trapped in fears and histories long finished but still all to active within. Fr. Richard Rohr recently made the case that balance and spiritual maturity includes getting honest and humble with ourselves and God. There is no other way to read Jesus’ stories of the prodigal son (Luke 15:11–32) or the tax collector and the Pharisee (Luke 18:9–14). In each story, the one who did wrong ends up being right—simply because he is honest and humble about it.

The one who is formally right ends up being terribly wrong because he is proud about his own performance. How have we been able to miss that important point? I suspect it is because the ego wants to think well of itself and deny any shadow material. Only the soul knows we grow best in the shadowlands. Western civilization has failed to learn how to carry the shadow side. We did not teach our people how to carry the paschal mystery—with its suffering, death, and resurrection—within ourselves, and it is now coming back to haunt us. Christians have little ability to carry the shadow side of themselves, of the church, of history, or of reality itself. It is much easier to see things as all-good or all-bad, rather than both crucified and resurrected at the same time. So, it’s no wonder we’re so out of balance.

St. Paul tells us much the same thing after coming to terms with his own failures, experiencing Christ’s grace and forgiveness, and learning to find a sense of balance within himself, he wrote in Ephesians 4:  We must no longer be little children, tossed to and fro and blown by every wind of within and without, by people’s trickery, their craftiness, or their deceitful scheming. Speaking the truth in love, we must grow up in every way into him who is the head, into Christ, from whom the whole body, joined and knit together by every ligament with which it is equipped, with each part work-ing properly, promotes the body’s growth in building itself up in love.

I’m rather fond of Eugene Peterson’s reworking of this text that tells us: No prolonged infancies among us, please. We’ll not tolerate babes in the woods, small children who are easy prey for predators. God wants us to grow up, to know the whole truth and tell it in love—like Christ in everything. We take our lead from Jesus, who is the source of everything we do. He keeps us in step with each other. His very breath and blood flow through us, nourishing us so that we will grow up healthy in God, robust in love.

So, just like last week when I showed you a body prayer from St. Julian of Norwich to help you get grounded without words, let me give you a breathing prayer from our Eastern Orthodox sisters and brothers that is equally time-tested. It is known as the Prayer of the Heart and links a sacred passage of Scripture with God’s sacred breath filling us with peace. The original Prayer of the Heart used these words:  Jesus Christ, have mercy on me.

But you can use any combination of words that ground you in God’s grace:  Sophia, wisdom: grant me peace.  Blessed Mary, hear my prayer. Spirit of God, fill my heart. The key involves three parts:  words that resonate with your heart, two distinct phrases that can guide your inward/outward breathing, and practice.

Let’s practice right now using the first words of the prayer – taking LONG, slow breathes in and then releasing them slowly too – so that we slow everything down within us. You know the con-temporary spiritual writer, Annie Lamott? She says that our soul always calls us to slow down if we’re feeling unbalanced: it is deep calling to deep and we do damage if we ignore this sacred invitation. So, try it with me:  Jesus Christ… have mercy on me.  In – and out.  Jesus Christ… have mercy on me…

I have concentrated on only one aspect of praying with our nose: breath. Fr. Ed suggests a variety of other ways:  using incense in our homes. Every Sunday before I start this live-streaming I use incense to evoke the beauty of the Lord. Some of you know that one day I used so much I set off our smoke alarms. But incense is a way, like Psalm 141 tells us, to let our prayers ascend to the Lord as we inhale the aroma.  You might stop and smell your evening dinner in a sacramental manner, too. Or the flowers in your garden or at the bodega. Like singer Annie Lennox tells us: there are a thousand beautiful things all around us that show us the essence and truth of the holy if we but have eyes to see, ears to hear, and noses to smell and breathe with…

check out the video here:

https://www.facebook.com/913217865701531/videos/338128764496422

praying with our feet: pilgrimage

PRAY ALL WAYS: Praying with our Feet on Pilgrimage

NOTE: We're on a wee post-pandemic pilgrimage to a place that has nourished us often during our days in ministry. Today's live-streaming, therefore, was not done at my home setting, but on the road. Here are my worship notes with a link to the Facebook video here: https://fb.watch/6oBqZsO4-R/

+

The Trappist visionary and mystic, Thomas Merton, understood that “the geographical pilgrimage is a symbolic acting out of our interior journey.” Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel taught that “faith is not the clinging to a shrine but an endless pilgrimage of the heart where the road to the sacred al-ways leads us through the secular.” And J.R.R. Tolkien wrote that: “Not all who wander are lost.” I have discovered that by nature, disposition, training, and choice I am a wandering pilgrim with the soul of a Celtic monk.

+ If you participated in our extended Advent series, you’ll recall that Celtic monks, unlike more linear seekers, practiced a pilgrimage of wandering without specific goals or destinations. By following the thread of synchronicity in their lives they believed God would lead them into places of personal resurrection and renewal.

+ That SO rings true for me as ordinary shopping trips become a pilgrimage of discovering beauty in unlikely places, wisdom in simple conversations, and opportunities to share a bit of tenderness in familiar settings. The older I get, the more these outings become holy ground where the ordinary becomes extraordinary just like Sister Joan Chittister said.

Fr. Ed Hayes calls this entering places with a sacramental physicality: praying with our feet – body prayers that incarnate our quest for authenticity, nourish our hunger for spiritual depth, encourage our openness to God’s presence all around us and support us as live into Christ’s call to trust the sacred spontaneously, simply, and quietly like a child at rest on her mother’s breast. Some Zen masters call this caring consciously for each moment with the same lavish tenderness you’d bestow upon a newborn. To be sure, praying with our feet is an acquired way of being – it takes practice – and when I thought about how I learned to do it I was taken back to 1968 when my high school church youth group began our annual summer mission caravan trips.

Our pastor, Sam Fogal, told us that it was time to see what our faith tradition looked like in action. So, in late June, some 30 teens and our adult advisors left suburban Connecticut to visit and en-counter a variety of church related mission projects. The first year took us to a Pennsylvania Dutch residential farm that was an orphanage for adolescent boys and girls; a community organizing proj-ect in Appalachian coal country; the Church of the Savior’s coffeehouse outreach to countercultural artists in Washington, DC; and a once all-white, German Evangelical and Reformed congregation that was now an inter-racial community of faith in a transitional urban neighborhood in Baltimore.

+ It was on that pilgrimage, just two months after Dr. King’s assassination, that I sensed a call to ministry – and when I heard Aretha sing on the radio during our trip home: you better THINK ‘bout what you’re trying to do to me, O Freedom – I took it to be the Holy Spirit sharing a gospel choir confirmation with me.

+ Our second caravan in 1969 found our crew in an old, rented, yellow school bus schlepping our way from New England through the Deep South. Our destination was the Back Bay Mission of the United Church of Christ in Biloxi, Mississippi. Along the way, we slept in church basements each night, heard about life on the street from local civil rights activists, and prac-ticed praying vespers at the close of the day. In Mississippi, we painted and helped repair some of the Mission’s buildings in the morning, participated in peace and justice Bible studies in the evening, and went swimming each afternoon.

As I thought about my early experiences with pilgrimage, I was reminded of how formative they were for me: at an impressionable age, my church made a commitment to put me in contact with the wider world of action and contemplation – and it was life-changing. So much so that I incorporated pilgrimage into the work I did with young people after ordination. In the early 80s, we took 50 youth and their parents to Soviet Russia in pursuit of people-to-people peace-making. A few years later we replicated that trip for adults marking the millennium of Christianity in Russia and Ukraine. Other youth trips included music-making mission events, border trips in the desert Southwest, and even a confirmation class encounter with the same coffee house ministry of the Church of the Savior to artists in Washington, DC that changed my life. The more I participated in pilgrimages, the more Merton’s insight spoke to me: a geographical pilgrimage is a symbolic acting out of our interior journey. A catalogue of my outward spiritual sojourns suggests a life-long quest to find the shifting balance between the inward/outward journey.

+ In seminary our young family took up residence in Costa Rica to study and pray with liberation theologians; the following summer I travelled to Mississippi to discern if my ministry would include community organizing or traditional work in a parish.

+ Four different times I’ve been on peace-pilgrimages to Soviet Russia; after 25 years of ordained ministry, we made a pilgrimage to the island of Iona to worship with that community – and along the way took two equally holy side trips to pay homage to the Beatles in Liverpool and my ancestors in the wee village of Lumsden outside of Aberdeen, Scotland.

+ Di and I regularly made an annual pilgrimage to the Ghost Ranch retreat center which always included time for prayer at the chapel of healing in Chimayo, New Mexico. Early in our relationship, we spent a full month wandering sacred sites in the desert Southwest to sort out the wisdom of the Spirit to grieve and celebrate the end of one way of being and the possibilities of another.

And nearly six years ago to the day, we prayerfully travelled to jazz liturgy centers in the US as part of a sabbatical that eventually took us to Montreal where I discerned that just as I was once called into local church ministry, now I was being called out. As a result, I’ve been traveling regularly over the past five years to the L’Arche community of Ottawa, Ontario where my heart’s been opened through participation in community life and sharing worship in that sacred place. The point of all this autobiography is to affirm what Lacy Clark Ellman, spiritual director and author, has learned: pilgrimage can take many forms. Some are traditional, others are highly personal, but all awaken us to the presence of God beyond the confines of our regular boundaries and borders. She writes:

We are all on journeys that take us beyond our borders and inform our spirituality. Sometimes our journeys are literal, but we journey in many other ways as well. We journey through careers, relationships, ups and downs, highs and lows. We journey through obstacles and toward accomplishments. We journey through seasons of life and formation. We journey from birth through childhood, adolescence, adulthood, and eventually death. And as we traverse this landscape, we all ask the same essential questions, whether we know it (consciously) or not: Who am I? Who is God? Where is God? What is the meaning of my life—In the bigger picture? In the day-to-day? What makes me come alive? What do I long for? These are sacred questions, and when we ask them with intention and actively engage the search that burns within us, our journeys are transformed. These sacred questions that guide us today have been the shared questions of humanity for thousands of years.

Ellman suggests that there are at least ten different ways to actively pray with our feet in pilgrimage. So let me first summarize her insights, then add some nuance from Fr. Ed Hays, before wrapping things up with some rubrics I have found to be true in my journey. As you may have surmised, praying with our feet is my preferred form of prayer: it is earthy, incarnational, profoundly personal yet always grounded in the mystery of God’s love and grace. Each of the following types of pilgrimage are pregnant with blessings and wisdom and I want to encourage you to try them out if you haven’t already done so, ok?

First there is the traditional pilgrimage: a journey to a well-known Sacred site. The most significant traditional destinations in the Christian realm are the Holy Land, Rome, and El Camino de Santiago de Compostela. Holy places of healing like Lourdes and Fatima are often places for a traditional Christian pilgrimage. Fr. Ed notes that going to these places opens us “to the grace and energy that has spoken to people throughout the ages… At these shrines, many have felt physical, emotional, and spiritual cleansing and cures.” Other sacred sites for other faith traditions include Mecca for Muslims, Kumbh Mela for Hindus, Bodh Gaya for Buddhists, and the Western Wall for Jews.

Second is the ancestral pilgrimage. “We all come from somewhere,” Ellman writes, “and as we seek to know more of ourselves and God, it’s likely that a time will come when some of the answers to our questions lie in the past, in lands that our ancestors once called home.” She adds that “ancestral research and pilgrimage reveal more than a place from which our ancestors came—they reveal a story in which we are participants. And this story is far greater than we ourselves because it not only tells us where we come from, it can also inform and inspire where we are to go.” When one of our daughters returned home from Scotland, she said with a sly smile: “It was so nice to be in a place that recognized our last name as normal!” I know that when we were on sabbatical, and quite by accident found ourselves standing on the same steps where my father had once held me during his graduation 63 years earlier, I felt like Moses when he stumbled upon holy ground at the burning bush. Taking stock of our roots is a vital form of pilgrimage.

So, too sabbaticals: a third type of pilgrimage. These mostly take place in academic settings, but the Hebrew Scriptures teach that the land was the first to experience sabbatical when it lay fallow and wild for a full year every seven years. A fourth type of pilgrimage is the solidarity pilgrimage: made to learn from and experience the world through the eyes of another. In this we give up a measure of control and seek to humble ourselves, broaden our perspective, and respond with compassionate action. There is a pilgrimage of personal or cultural significance – like our trip to the birthplace of the Beatles – or my commitment to visit City Lights Books when-ever I am in San Francisco, for it is the home of the beat movement and their critical cultural critique of bourgeois values. I made a point to get back there just this past May while visiting my brother in North Beach.

“What ignites your fire in ways that are unique to you” is at the core of this pilgrimage that invites us to trust “the spark of creativity and go deeper into the sacred.” There are nature pilgrimages that let us step out of the busyness and into the wild solitude of creation. Threshold pilgrimages marking our journey from one season of life to another in ways that resemble rites of passage. Discovery pilgrimages that open us to new lands, peoples, customs, and insights. Simple retreats that can become mini-pilgrimages to help us care for body and soul. And finally what Ellman calls the interior pilgrimage and Fr. Ed names a rocking chair pilgrimage: this is the inward spiritual journey of the pilgrim. “It is the foundation and inspiration for all other journeys… It is the journey of a lifetime, the journey of a season, the journey of a day, and the journey of a moment. For when we forget that we are on an interior pilgrimage, we go off course.” The interior pilgrimage is the journey that reconnects our outward experiences to our inner sacramental practices. Fr. Ed writes in his little guidebook, Pray ALL Ways, that: 

We don’t have to go to deserts or shrines… Could we not begin our pilgrimage to the place of our birth or that of our parents or grandparents? Our personal heritage is holy… for God has touched our lives most strongly at these places and at these special times of birth, family, and death. In a society that tends to forget its connection with the past because of busyness and mobility, a family or threshold pilgrimage could bring a sense of direction and focus to our lives.

Each and all these journeys are ways we can pray with our feet on pilgrimage. The singer-song-writer, Carrie Newcomer, captures this wisdom in her poem: “Because There Is Not Enough Time.”

I used to think that because life is short I should do more. Be more.

Squeeze more into every day. I’d walk around with a stick ruler with increasing numbers as the measure of fullness. 

But lately I’ve sensed a different response to a lack of time.

Felt in my bones the singular worth of each passing moment.

Perhaps the goal is NOT to spend this day power skiing atop an ocean of multitasking.

Maybe the idea is to swim slower – surer –

 dive deeper and really look around.

There is a difference between a life of width and a life of depth.

To recognize consciously and sacramentally the difference between a life of width and a life of depth, Fr. Ed suggests some spiritual practices we might incorporate into our exploration of pilgrimage. “We close the door to our home,” he writes, “the door to what is familiar – to all our possess-ions and goods – we say goodbye to family and friends and walk away with the idea that we may never return for we have now placed ourselves in the hands of God.” G.K. Chesterton once stated that the purpose of all trips is to come home – but wisdom keepers teach that on pilgrimage the purpose is to come home with new eyes to see and a new heart to feel and understand our connection to God and one another.

I think the poet, R.S. Thomas is spot-on when he tells us: The point of travelling is not to arrive but to return home laden with pollen that you shall work up Into honey the mind feeds on. “If we return home just as when we left, then the pilgrimage has failed. Perhaps it was really more of a pious vacation where shrines could just as well have been nightclubs.” To guard against this, pil-grims are invited to practice the following to keep the prayers of our feet on track.

· First, travel simply: only take what is essential...

· Second, say good-bye to what is familiar and be open to the unknown: this is practicing trusting God more than self…

· Third, treat the journey like an adventure: it is essential to have fun and rest as well as pray and explore…

· Fourth, search out the joy with childlike awe: a pilgrimage is NOT a burden or work and never an act that makes us grim…

· Fifth, give yourself time to see, smell, taste and feel the new world: this is contemplation at its most rich. Eating new foods, taking in new music, art, culture, listening to the stories of those in new places is all a part of how we pray with our feet… where is there beauty? Taste and see the goodness of the Lord…

· Sixth, be aware of the challenges – even the dangers. Trusting God is crucial, so, too making wise choices. It is one thing to honor the Lord our God with openness and love, it is another to test God to do for us what we must do for ourselves. You may recall the Lenten stories of Jesus in the desert and Satan’s temptations… On our journeys there will always be risks to be assessed – such is part of the discernment – and acquisition of wisdom. Psalm 23

· And seventh, trust God and look for the holy. There is a passage in Hebrews that invites us to be kind to strangers because in so doing some have entertained angels unaware. We know the story of Abraham and Sarah who encounter three angels in disguise who disclose God’s promise of a child after they have been welcomed into the safety of their tent and fed with true hospitality. (Tell the story of “angel” who helped us get a fan belt and then disappeared.)

If we intentionally use these practices on our occasional external pilgrimages, we will train our-selves to discern the mystical and sacred wisdom in our everyday, quotidian lives, too. In another of his books, A Pilgrim’s Almanac, Fr. Ed writes that we are everyday pilgrims in three ways:

· First, from the womb to the tomb we are on a holy journey…

· Second, because we come from God and are always journeying back to our Sacred Source, our key life events are sacramental times…

· And third, as an earthling, we are traveling in space at a speed of 67,000 miles per hour in the Earth’s ancient 365 day pilgrimage around the sun…

“Here is the road,” wrote the poet, Arlene Levine, “the light comes and goes then returns again. Be gentle with your fellow travelers as they move through the world of stone and stars whirling with you yet every one alone. The road waits. Do not ask questions but when it invites you to dance at daybreak, say yes. Each step is the journey; a single note the song.”

I have come to trust that when we incorporate into our everyday chores and outings the practices and insights learned on our outward pilgrimages, then even a trip to the corner convenience shop or hardware store can become a sacramental expedition. But as is so often the case, I must ready myself for the journey – and here are a few practical ways I do that:

· I have come to expect that each day holds a surprise for me…

· I must give myself adequate time to do ordinary chores: without time I’m too stressed out to see and respond to surprises…

· That means each day I try to do only one or two things rather than multitask…

· I watch and listen – I ask other’s about their story…

· And then I try to consciously return thanks to God with what Fr. Ed taught me is a berakah prayer: Blessed are you, Lord God, for…

Our tradition, like every spiritual path, anticipates and encourages us to learn how to pray with our feet: The ancient Psalmist sang, “I rejoiced when I heard them say let us go up to the house of the Lord” in Psalm 122. It is a hymn of anticipation marking one of the three annual pilgrimages made to the Temple in Jerusalem. The priests who edited Deuteronomy wrote in chapter 16: “Three times in a year (you) shall appear before the Lord your God in the place which God chooses, at the Feast of Unleavened Bread and at the Feast of Weeks and at the Feast of Booths, and they shall not appear before the Lord empty-handed.”
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph – and other faithful souls from the village – regularly went to Jerusalem for the Feast of Passover as Luke 2 reminds us. And the prophet Isaiah made a point of reminding ancient Israel: There will come a time when MANY people will choose to join you as you go up the mountain of the Lord (in Jerusalem) for prayer…You will have songs as in the night when you keep the festival, and gladness of heart as when as you march to the sound of the flute…

It is a grand, liberating, creative, and embodied way to pray. As the old TV commercial used to say: TRY it, you’ll LIKE it.

contemplatives as cultural/spiritual midwives...

Yesterday, I closed my weekly live-streaming reflection saying:

I have always been a contemplative. Learning, practicing, and sharing the inward journey has long fed my soul. I have regularly engaged in acts of justice and compassion as part of my outward journey - from being a Conscientious Objector during the Vietnam War, organizing with Cesar Chavez and the farm workers union to peace and justice work and solidarity with the LGBTQA community - but that work was exhausting to me. Terrifying at times, too. So, I have often felt ashamed and confused about how hard it is for me to be prophetic in public.

Truth be told, it has taken me decades to trust my soul and know that God has invited me to let contemplation and action dance together as part of how the world is healed.  Psalm 85 tells us that grace and trust, justice and peace, mercy and right relations will embrace as one:

                Steadfast love and faithfulness will meet;
                Righteousness and peace will kiss each other.
                Faithfulness will spring up from the ground,
                and righteousness will look down from the sky.

Right now this nation - and others - are birthing a new vision. The recent establishment of Juneteenth as a national holiday is a piece of this puzzle. We are once again moving towards a vision of the Beloved Community where right relations between individuals and groups of people is normative, where shame and exploitation is diminished, where hope is genuine, economic and spiritual support plentiful, and respect and love of Mother Earth carries the day.

This truth is starting - it is ripening - but no where near finished or complete. That is why it is crucial that humble, peace-filled, non-anxious spiritual and cultural midwives be a part of this noisy, complicated birthing. That is the calling of contemplatives today: to help the new world be born as compassion and justice dance together.

As affirmation, what did I read this morning from Fr. Richard Rohr? Today's

insights start with: a midwife of the soul - and words from Margaret Guenther:

As they approach midlife, women especially may feel impelled to explore their spirituality as they discover their new and unexpectedly authoritative voice. Men and women of all ages and life experiences may sense a call, not necessarily a vocation to the ordained ministry, but simply the awareness that God expects them to do something with their lives.... As a spiritual midwife, the director’s task is to pay attention, to listen to what is not being said—or to what is being said but minimized...

Spiritual direction is not a crisis ministry, even though the initial impulse to seek out a director may arise from a sense of urgent personal need. The midwife of the spirit is not an expert called in for the dramatic moments, either a crisis caused by pathology or the final, exciting moment of birth. Like a midwife, she works with the whole person and is present throughout the whole process. She “has time”—unlike the tightly scheduled physician who is concerned with specifics, complaints, and pathology. Or, for that matter, unlike the tightly scheduled parish clergy, who are concerned with program, administration, and liturgy. Instead she offers support through every stage and waits with the birthgiver when “nothing is happening.” Of course, there are no times when nothing is happening. Spiritual growth can be gradual and hidden; the director-midwife can discern or at least trust that something is indeed “happening.”

As a people, we are not comfortable with waiting. We see it as wasted time and try to avoid it, or at least fill it with trivial busyness. We value action for its own sake... It is hard to trust in the slow work of God. So the model of pregnancy and birth is a helpful one... There are times when waiting is inevitable, ordained, and fruitful.

I think of the relationship that both Howard Thurman and Abraham Heschel had with MLK. Or Vincent Harding's role as elder to the ripening civil rights movement. Or Christ Hartmire's commitment to Cesar Chavez. Or Ira Sandperl's mentoring of Joan Baez. To be the quiet, reflective contemplative is NOT lower than the social activist. It is simply different. And the more I spend time in this commitment, the more I see how both have been created to dance together and encourage one another.

random thoughts as we move beyond the lockdowns...

Yesterday I stopped by our local nursery to get some annuals and a chili pepper

plant. It is one of my small joys to wander around the green houses, marvel at all the new life being displayed with beauty, and maybe bring part of creation home to my garden. On my way back to the car, an elderly woman (NOTE: this is all relative, mind you, given my age; still, I would guess she was in her early 80's) who asked me, "Should we still be wearing masks?" I, of course, was masked even though our strict regulations have been lifted. For my own well-being as well as an act of visible solidarity, however, I mask in small public places. I replied, "Well, now it's a matter of personal discernment, ma'am. We are no longer required to mask - with a few exceptions - like flying, in hospitals, or in places where you feel uncertain." She nodded and smiled saying, "Maybe I will just carry one with me" to which I replied, "That's what I'm doing these days. When in doubt, I choose to wear a mask." 

The uncertainty of these days is palpable. I experienced a quiet jubilation a few weeks ago walking the streets of North Beach and taking in street culture again without a mask; and, I was equally at peace flying home in a plane where masking was mandatory. Thankfully there were no surly, anti-vaxxer, insurrectionists aboard my flight. (Although my seat mates did say to me that while they were inoculated, they were certain that the government put some kind of chip in their arms! "After my  shot," the female companion confessed, "I put a magnet against my arm - and it stuck!" What do you even say to such madness!?) The crude cruelties I've seen on some newscasts where self-centered Americans spit, slap, or punch agents of public hospitality are disturbing. (NOTE: yet another reason I limit my TV intact of news to one hour on PBS.) We're going to join friends we haven't seen in over a year this weekend for a meal out: it will be part celebration of our new reality and part planning session for a fall concert. And while I am excited to reconnect, I would be dishonest if I didn't note some anxieties, too. Not with our friends. Just stepping back out in public after such a grueling season of self-isolation.

This is not unique. Last week I read a commencement address David Brooks of the NY Times gave at Boston College. (NOTE: I'm a BIG Brooks fan. He is not a part of the progressive political vanguard - and that's one reason I appreciate his commentary. I, too, practice discernment and patience. But what I admire is his willingness to publicly own his mistakes - and atone for them.) Speaking to the class of 2021 and their families in a football stadium on a warm day in May, Brooks reminded his audience:

We are all coming out of something hard. For many of us there has been grief and loss, and fear and dread. For almost all of us there was exhaustion, stress and memory loss. I don’t know about you, but during the peak of Covid, I’d wander into rooms wondering why I went there. I spent an awesome amount of time wondering where my ear buds were. I became more touchy, fragile, vulnerable doing all of this. I think it was because of all the emotional nourishment that we missed - dance parties, spring break, sitting around a bar late at night and laughing. Before Covid, 25% of Americans said they were lonely. Now it’s 35% and 61% of young people.

These happenings ring true for me: I find that I am worn-out after venturing outside our garden sanctuary. My ability to multi-task has been buried (gratefully!) And my interest in re-engaging in previous commitments nearly atrophied. The church historian, Diana Butler Bass, put it like this in her recent on-line newsletter: "In recent days, I’m struck by how anxious I feel - far more anxious than any time in the pandemic except at the very beginning. I hate the masks, yet I find myself hiding behind it still. I dislike the distance, and I hold myself at length from others. I question those around me. Is this person safe? Have they been vaccinated? What invisible threat might those bodies harbor? Then she adds:

The pandemic forced us into new habits. Not running to the store. Not gathering in big groups. Wearing masks. Creative celebration instead of accepted rituals. Ordering online. Sharing space in our homes for multiple workers and students. Think of all the things we did differently in the before-times. Now, think of all we’ve learned. The patterns and structures of daily life have been transformed. Several months into the pandemic, I heard Bill Gates remark in an interview that many Americans had gone through some twelve to fifteen years of technological adaptation in three months. We zoomed our way into the future, taking on a dizzying array of new habits and practices on the journey.

People talk about “return to normal” or wanting our “old lives” back. I think my recent struggle with anxiety relates to that. I’m wondering what I want back. And what habits I’d like to keep from these months. I was going to go on a trip to Arizona, partly because I felt I “should” get back on an airplane. But only days before, I cancelled it. I find myself in no rush to return, savoring instead the comfortable practices of home and garden. In the last year, I’ve learned to view the world in far more intimate ways - instead of my usual view from 35,000 feet in an airplane. I’ve discovered I like being grounded, the learned steps of walking my neighborhood, the familiar rhythms of my mundane suburb. I felt this nearly holy homeyness a treasured sort of secret, that the on-the-run-busy-extroverted-writer-Diana found herself being quiet and introverted and liked it.

I understand and accept that mine is a privileged solitude. Most of the residents upon Mother Earth do not have the luxury or choice to retreat into the quiet safety of gardens like my own. As a physician from India recently reminded us all on FB:

Social distancing is a privilege: it means you live in a house large enough to practice it. Hand washing is a privilege, too: it means you have access to running water. Hand sanitizers are a privilege: it means you have the resources to buy them. Lockdowns, too document the wealth to own your own dwelling. What we are fighting right now in India is a disease spread by the rich as they flew all over the globe that is now killing millions of the poor.

Those to whom life has given much, requires much: in the emerging culture of a post-COVID world, the sacred has issued a mandate to integrate compassion, justice, and solidarity into our contemplation. In the US we are encountering a renewed assault upon democracy, an escalation of hate crimes against Jews and people of color, and a clear war against women and the LGBTQ community. Sadly, this is not the first time freedom has been under attack - and it won't be the last. One of the consequences of 14 months of solitude is that I have embraced a truly long view of history: the world has always been a mess and will continue to be so. Simultaneously though, it has always been sacred, beautiful, and filled with promise. Fr. Richard Rohr recently wrote about "foundational hope" and quoted an Episcopal Bishop, a First Nations Choctaw, Stephen Charleston, who articulates a vision that nourishes me:

The signs are all around us. We can see them springing up like wildflowers after the prairie rain. People who had fallen asleep are waking up. People who had been content to watch are wanting to join. People who never said a word are speaking out. The tipping point of faith is the threshold of spiritual energy, where what we believe becomes what we do. When that power is released, there is no stopping it, for love is a force that cannot be contained. Look and see the thousands of new faces gathering from every direction. There is the sign of hope for which you have been waiting...

Hope lets us literally see the presence and action of the holy in our everyday lives. This is not an imaginary desire viewed through rose-colored glasses. It is the solid evidence of the power of love made visible in abundance. Sometimes, in this troubled world of ours, we forget that love is all around us. We imagine the worst of other people and withdraw into our own shells. But try this simple test: Stand still in any crowded place and watch the people around you. Within a very short time, you will begin to see love, and you will see it over and over and over. A young mother talking to her child, a couple laughing together as they walk by, an older man holding the door for a stranger—small signs of love are everywhere. The more you look, the more you will see. Love is literally everywhere. We are surrounded by love. 

Fr. Rohr adds: This is such a powerful reminder to use a contemplative gaze to look at the world around us. Signs of love abound, reminding us of God’s essential nature. I concur: we ARE surrounded by love if we have eyes to see and ears to hear. This is the heart of what a new way of being encourages: trust in the omnipresence of God's love.