A spacious environment

Artist: Peter Mauch

This is a repeat from a while back. But I think it is actually quite timely given the political and religious climate of today. And so I offer it again.

It has grieved me for some time now that the fundamentalist expression of Christianity has held sway in the public imagination and has conditioned many people in our society to believe that Christianity is all about condemning others and controlling its own. And so I really loved this quotation when I stumbled upon it - particularly the last sentence:

There are a number of Hebrew words about salvation which also mean "to bring into a spacious environment", "to be at one's ease", "to be free to develop". "Salvation" can be seen then as the new life in Christ, in which we are to be "free to develop" into Christ-like people. For this maturing to take place, there needs to be a breaking down of barriers, a breaking up of the soil of our personalities, and a healing of inner wounds and hurts. The soil is softened, the clay becomes malleable through the experience of the tender love of God and the accepting, non-judgmental love of Christians. We cannot be beaten into shape.

--Michael Harper

Why certainty is not really an option

Artist: Gentile da Fabriano

Image from Wikimedia Commons

Truly among the more helpful things C.S. Lewis ever said:

Can a mortal ask questions which God finds unanswerable? Quite easily, I should think. All nonsense questions are unanswerable. How many hours are there in a mile? Is yellow square or round? Probably half the questions we ask - half our great theological and metaphysical problems - are like that.

Therefore, I would assert that it behooves us not to become too attached to our theological constructs. From our limited viewpoint, we can't really know if they actually make any sense or not.
~~~

Speaking rightly

Artist: Simon Ushakov

Image from Wikimedia Commons

Yes, it's a paradox:

Teaching about Christ begins in silence.... In so far as the Church proclaims the Word, it falls down silently in truth before the inexpressible: 'In silence I worship the unutterable' (Cyril of Alexandria). The spoken Word is the inexpressible; this unutterable is the Word.... Although it is cried out by the Church in the world, it remains the inexpressible. To speak of Christ means to keep silent; to keep silent about Christ means to speak. When the Church speaks rightly out of a proper silence, then Christ is proclaimed.

This was said by the great Dietrich Bonhoeffer.

~~~

Side roads in the mist

Artist: Claude Monet

Image from Wikimedia Commons

Some years ago, I came across the blog of a clergyperson who calls himself Real Live Preacher. He is a very interesting, thoughtful writer indeed.

Here are just a couple of quotations:

Every path may lead you to God, even the weird ones. Most of us are on a journey. We’re looking for something, though we’re not always sure what that is. The way is foggy much of the time. I suggest you slow down and follow some of the side roads that appear suddenly in the mist.

...

When someone is giving you their theology, their God words, you should listen hard and be very gentle. The time to deliver your God words is when you are asked.

~~~

A little levity for something different

Artist: Wolfgang Krodel the Elder

Image from Wikimedia Commons

Goodness! I have to admit I never thought about it quite this way before:

God tells Adam and Eve not to eat of the fruit of the tree of knowledge of good and evil. If this was the only way they could understand the difference between good and evil, how could they have known that it was wrong to disobey God and eat the fruit?

--Laurie Lynn*

* I can't seem to find any information on this person but I found the quotation right here.

~~~

Something about missing the obvious

Image from Wikimedia Commons

Today's gospel reading is the story of Jesus (and Peter) walking on the water. Here's something I found on Lindy Black's site that is both humorous and intriguing. There's actually a lot here when you think about it:

There is an old story that has often been re-told in especially the Eastern Orthodox part of the church. According to the tale, a devout abbot from a monastery decided to take a prolonged spiritual retreat in a small cabin located on a remote island in the middle of a large lake. He told his fellow monks that he wanted to spend his days in prayer so as to grow closer to God. For six months he remained on the island with no other person seeing him or hearing from him in all that time. But then one day, as two monks were standing near the shore soaking up some sunshine, they could see in the distance a figure moving toward them. It was the abbot, walking on water, and coming toward shore. After the abbot passed by the two monks and continued on to the monastery, one of the monks turned to the other and said, "All these months in prayer and the abbot is still as stingy as ever. After all, the ferry costs only 25 cents!" Humor aside, the point of the story is that it's amazing how easily we may sometimes miss the significance of something that is right in front of us. It’s the kind of thing that could motivate one to take a fresh look at even the very familiar, like the story in Matthew 14 about Jesus (and then Peter) walking on water.

-- Scott Hoezee

~~~

The meaning of a blessing

Artist: Helen Allingham

Image from Wikipedia Commons

I continue to be grateful for the life and writings of the Irish poet and philosopher John O'Donohue. His unexpected death at the age of fifty-two came as a shock to those of us who had discovered his contribution to the world-wide community of those who joyfully participate in contemplation and who embrace the spiritual journey. Here's something he said that speaks to what we want for ourselves and each other when we go to the deepest place of wisdom within:

"Our longing for the eternal kindles our imagination to bless. Regardless of how we configure the eternal, the human heart continue to dream of a state of wholeness, that place where everything comes together, where loss will be made good, where blindness will transform into vision, where damage will be made whole, where the clenched question will open in the house of surprise, where the travails of life's journey will enjoy a homecoming. To invoke a blessing is to call some of that wholeness upon a person now."

~~~

You know, there's actually a lot to this when you think about it:

Some small weak tender part...

Artist: Van Gogh

Image from Wikimedia Commons

Here is a poem I recently found. I'm using it for reflective reading. It presents an ideal, of course. An ideal undoubtedly impossible to live up to - although some of the great saints have come pretty close, I'd say. I think this kind of wondering is an antidote for cynicism as well as a remedy for discouragement and that's no small thing:

I wonder what would happen if
I treated everyone like I was in love
with them, whether I like them or not
and whether they respond or not and no matter
what they say or do to me and even if I see
things in them which are ugly twisted petty
cruel vain deceitful indifferent, just accept
all that and turn my attention to some small
weak tender hidden part and keep my eyes on
that until it shines like a beam of light
like a bonfire I can warm my hands by and trust
it to burn away all the waste which is not
never was my business to meddle with.

-- Derek Tasker

~~~

A river of grace

Artist: Claude Monet

Image from Wikimedia Commons

It's possible that I have posted this before. Nevertheless, it bears repeating. I have long admired this writer. She is obviously intimately acquainted with silence as the great context for embracing the holy and the good:

Silence is like a river of grace inviting us to leap unafraid into its beckoning depths. It is dark and mysterious in the waters of grace. Yet in the silent darkness we are given new eyes. In the heart of the divine we can see more clearly who we are. We are renewed and cleansed in this river of silence. There are those among you who fear the Great Silence. It is a foreign land to you. Sometimes it is good to leap into the unknown. Practice leaping.

-- Macrina Wiederkehr

Loving ourselves

Artist: Alexander Pushnin

Image from Wikimedia Commons

It grieves me enormously - truly it does - that so many Christians are caught up in self-loathing and believe that, in fact, they should not love themselves:

God's love for us is not the reason for which we should love him. God's love for us is the reason for us to love ourselves.

-- Simone Weil

Julian's wisdom

Image from Wikimedia Commons

For some reason, I happen to have Julian of Norwich on my mind this morning. Here are two quotations for your reflection:

Pray inwardly, even if you do not enjoy it. It does good, though you feel nothing. Yes, even though you think you are doing nothing.
...
If there is anywhere on earth a lover of God who is always kept safe, I know nothing of it, for it was not shown to me. But this was shown: that in falling and rising again we are always kept in that same precious love.

Both of these obseverations call attention to two of the most pernicious mistakes in the spiritual life. The first is giving too much validity to feelings. Many people will say, "Well, if I don't feel what I'm praying, what's the point?" Fortunately, I had a classically trained spiritual director in my formative years who made it clear to me that feelings were largely irrelevant.

The second mistake actually gives rise to very great suffering and that is the idea that if we believe the correct things and behave in the correct way that our lives will turn out all right --- that nothing bad will ever happen to us. Technically, that is known as the "just world theory" and it is not the gospel.
~~~

I give my heart

Artist: Giovanni di Paolo

Image from Wikimedia Commons

I remember many years ago when I first learned the true meaning of the word credo. It is tragic, really, that we seem to have forgotten this:

Credo is the word with which the great creeds of early Chistendom begin. “I believe. . .” we say. The Latin credo means literally, “I give my heart.” The word believe is a problematic one today in part because it has gradually changed its meaning from being the language of certainty so deep that I could give my heart to it, to the language of uncertainty so shallow that only the “credulous” would rely on it. Faith, as we have seen, is not about propositions, but about commitment. It does not mean that I intellectually subscribe to the following list of statements, but that I give my heart to this reality. Believe, indeed, comes to us from the Old English belove, making clear that this too is meant to be heart language. To say “I believe in Jesus Christ” is not to subscribe to an uncertain proposition. It is a confession of commitment, of love.

-- Diana L. Eck

The shattering love of God

Artist: Anthony van Dyck

Image from Wikimedia Commons

You already know how very much I value the writings of Frederick Buechner. Here's another sample and I like this passage very much:

We try so hard as Christians. We think such long thoughts, manipulate such long words, and both listen to and preach such long sermons. Each one of us somewhere, somehow, has known, if only for a moment or so, something of what it is to feel the shattering love of God, and once that has happened, we can never rest easy again for trying somehow to set that love forth not only in words, myriads of words, but in our lives themselves.

Something about prayer

Artist: Lev Russov

Image from Wikimedia Commons

Does anyone remember that radical little book of prayers entitled Are You Running With Me Jesus? by Malcolm Boyd? It came out back in the 60s and had a considerable influence on me. Here's something Fr. Boyd said:

I believe that God prays in us and through us, whether we are praying or not (and whether we believe in God or not). So, any prayer on my part is a conscious response to what God is already doing in my life.

I like this because it reminds us that prayer is not so much something we do as it is something to which we give our assent.

~~~

Something about forgiveness

Hmm. Not exactly classical or high art this time but the message is spot on, I'd say:

Simply gorgeous chant

Going back to God

Artist: Paul Klee
Image from Wikimedia Commons

You know, there's something about this that gives me both consolation and great hope. I don't think I have words for why that is right this minute. Please just do take my word for it!

Every day people are straying away from the church and going back to God. Really.

-- Lenny Bruce

~~~

Cost, risk, and harvest

Artist: Matthias Stom

Image from Wikimedia Commons

First of all, dear people, I want to give you a link:

July 10, 2011 Fifteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time Year A (Fourth Sunday after Pentecost - Proper 10)

It is rich with material for reflecting on today's scripture readings (which you can read right there by scrolling down).

First we have a sermon by Karen Georgia Thompson on the very troublesome first reading. That's the one about Esau selling his birthright to Jacob for "a mess of pottage" (as the older translations put it).

And, on that subject, I just have to share this little quip by Lord Byron:

Thou sold'st thy birthright, Esau! for a mess
Thou shouldst have gotten more, or eaten less.

Then my favorite preacher these days, Kathryn Matthews Huey, offers some reflections on the gospel reading: the parable of the sower. Here's something I particularly like:

The sower is remarkably free in throwing the seed on all sorts of potential "growth areas." There's no calculation or careful husbandry of the seeds in his pocket. In the face of all sorts of obstacles and dangers, the sower counts on the bountiful return of a few seeds; he imagines the plentiful harvest reaped when even a few of the seeds find fertile soil.

And this:

Thomas Long writes: "Therefore, the church is called to 'waste itself,' to throw grace around like there is no tomorrow, precisely because there is a tomorrow, and it belongs to God" (Matthew, The Westminster Bible Companion). To whom does your "tomorrow" belong?

I think I like those two brief passages because I see the Church so compulsively caught up in self-protection of late. And I refer specifically to protection of the institution. What would happen if we let God take care of the increase instead of engaging in the kind of calculation that often goes on today in the name of "church growth"? Now, I'm not saying at all that we don't need to exercise appropriate stewardship of the institution. I'm just saying that there's a vast difference between a commitment to all due responsibility and a fearful refusal to take the risks clearly demanded of us by the gospel.

~~~

A constant process

Artist: Félix Vallotton

Image from Wikimedia Commons

I first enountered the writings of Joyce Rupp back when I was in the convent and I'm so very glad I did. I identified with her early on because she also sees spiritual direction as a kind of midwifery. I particularly like the feeling of rhythm that the following passage conveys:

...I have found the cup to be a powerful teacher for my inner life. The ordinariness of the cup reminds me that my personal transformation occurs in the common crevices of each day. The cup is an apt image for the inner process of growth. The cup has been a reminder of my spiritual thirst. As I've held it, filled it, drunk from it, emptied it and washed it, I've learned that it is through my ordinary human experineces that my thirst for God is quenched. In the cup I see life, with its emptiness, fullness, brokenness, flaws, and blessings.

A cup is a container for holding something. Whatever it holds has to eventually be emptied out so that something more can be put into it. I have learned that I cannot always expect my life to by full. There has to be some emptying, some pouring out, if I am to make room for the new. The spiritual journey is like that--a constant process of emptying and filling, of giving and receiving, of accepting and letting go.