Dear Friends,
I sit to write early this week as I am about to leave for what has become an annual trip to Florida. There’s a lot to be said about vacations; about getting away. One of the realities I’ve discovered about getting away is that even though vacations can be either restful times or times of abundant activity and though we may feel very alive, relaxed and renewed, or utterly exhausted upon returning home, there can also be that sense of “Gee, I have been changed by being away but I’m returning to the same old way of life – nothing back home has changed”. And that feeling (or reality) can be quite disheartening.
But my Florida vacations are quite different. They are filled with time – mostly time to be rather than the activities of doing. They are restful times; those of much reflection and contemplation, of going within and listening, and both a getting away and a coming back to a sense of what really matters. As abundantly as I’ve written in recent weeks about taking/making time for silence and solitude amid the busyness of our everyday lives to discover what and who lies at the core of our being and to connect (or re-connect) with the Sacred who forever abides in and with us, I have found, for me, the ideal place and space to simply be is in the quiet company of this Florida environment. Maybe it’s the vastness of the ocean, maybe it’s the sound of the rolling waves and the ebb and flow of the tide, maybe it’s the quiet conversations with a dear friend co-mingled with silent walks along the beach, maybe it’s the leaving behind for a time the cold and snowy Wisconsin winter
weather for a week of Florida warmth, or…maybe it’s all of the above that grants me the greatest permission to relax and notice and ponder the awesomeness of creation and the pure desire to listen to the Sacred voice within and around. There’s an easiness to the letting go and a compelling feeling of willingness to be led by the breath of the Spirit into the wilderness.
Early on in the Gospel according to Mark we read: “The Spirit drove Jesus out into the desert” (1:12). It’s a very familiar story – the story of Jesus being tempted by the devil, how he resisted those “earthly” temptations for fame and power and control and how Jesus emerged from the desert and went on to carry out his mission and ministry of teaching, preaching, compassion and love. Spending time in the desert, whether an actual desert or another place or within the silence of our hearts can be both a lonely, scary place and a fruitful place. It’s really our choice, for we often perceive we go there alone. We can choose to experience it as a vast wasteland, even a waste of time, or a place filled with our own demons: regrets, guilt, temptations, and our imperfections. But we can also choose to experience it as filled with abundant opportunity. We can choose to spend our desert time wandering around wishing we and/or our lives were different. But we can also choose to quiet ourselves and notice the ways the Sacred woven into the fabric of life and is speaking to our hearts, walking with us, loving us into who we are intended to be. We can choose to allow the Spirit to drive the breath of the Holy into our very souls. We can emerge from the desert – our time of silence, solitude, listening and perhaps wrestling with demons and temptations – filled with strength and courage for the road ahead and the knowledge of the undeniable love of the Sacred One ever-present with us and all around us.
Peace on the Journey
Dear Friends,
As I write today, winter has taken a U-Turn. Just last week we experienced a taste of spring: temperatures into the 40’s and even 50’s for a few days, green winter wheat beginning to grow in the fields, a rapid melting of the mounds of snow, increasing emer
gence and movement of wildlife. But today nature has proven it still is winter by providing us with yet another round of snow, and blowing and drifting too. And I sigh as I ponder U- Turns and wonder if a going back or a turning back is a fruitful or live-giving thing to do. It depends. Does our turning back mean a return to rigidity and more of the same? Or does a turning back offer us an opportunity to dream a new path for the future?
In a few short days the Christian season of Lent will be upon us. It is a time when many of us have become accustomed to reflect on our sinfulness and give up something in order to make restitution to God. As children we may have given up candy; as adults we are obligated to fast on Ash Wednesday and Good Friday and to give up eating meat on Fridays. Some of us may give up other things or habits only to return to them once Lent is past. We may pride ourselves on how good we are in sticking to our Lenten resolve to deny ourselves a pleasure or two (or three). And yet, in the end, when Lent has passed, what have we accomplished? Have we moved closer to the Sacred? On Ash Wednesday we will hear the scripture plea to return to the Lord “with your whole heart, with fasting, and weeping, and mourning” (Joel 2:12). And there are some who will make a U-Turn into the “good old days” of the past by dwelling only on the fasting and weeping and mourning of Lent (or life), believing that personal denial and/or suffering is our only “ticket” to salvation. I think there’s more...I think there’s another U-Turn to take.
If we’ve taken the risk to enter into the depths of our hearts and have discovered even amid and among the silence and darkness the presence of the Sacred abides within, we have begun to make the U-Turn of turning back to or toward all that is holy and life-giving. Doing so allows us to dream new dreams, to vision possibilities for life and love, notice ways to better live in communion with each other and the world, to believe in God’s promise “See, I am doing something new!” (Isaiah 43:19) Taking that risky leap into our deep within, we are able to find something new in and for us; something new in our relationship with the Sacred. Now, isn’t that the point of Lent – to move us toward newness?
Peace on the Journey
Dear Friends,In the past, and recently I have written about or alluded to silence and solitude – making space in our busy lives to go within ourselves, to the core of our being, to discover and ponder the presence of the Sacred who abides within each of us. This can be a difficult journey for many reasons: we may not want to encounter, discover or remember parts of ourselves or past that are painful or hurtful; we may not want to face the fact that we are not “perfect”; we may not be comfortable with times of silence and solitude given our society’s expectation of “doing” (Is there anything so wrong about "wasting time" in the quiet of our heart with the Holy One?). And yet, the Sacred Presence resides deep within us and desires for us to connect in relationship. Many of us have grown up with very concrete instruction about prayer: what to pray, how to pray, with whom to pray and when to pray. We have learned and memorized the “official” prayers of our formal faith tradition. And for some of us this may be the only form of prayer we know. We may have been told that private recitation of “official” or written prayers and liturgical prayer with a worshiping community are the only kinds of prayer we need offer. Though both those prayer forms are valuable and meaningful, many of us experience times when praying in those ways becomes dry and lifeless for us. Experiencing little or no spiritual nourishment in prayer, wondering if our prayers are really meaningful or “doing” something, or noticing our experience of “formal” prayer has become merely the fulfillment of an obligation or expectation rather than our willing acceptance of an invitation to commune with God are all signs we have entered into a time of dryness where prayer is concerned. We should want to pray…not out of fear of retribution or because someone tells us we must pray. We may be tempted to view times of dryness in our prayer as a signal that something is wrong with the what, when, how and with whom we're praying but...periods of dryness in our prayer (no matter how short or long in duration) are really opportunities if we are able to use them as time to turn inward in silence and solitude.
Daring to go, taking the risk to enter into that place of silence and solitude may feel like standing at t
he edge of the deep, dark abyss of unknown. We may not want to step over the edge and take the plunge. And yet, by doing so freely, we open ourselves up to encountering the Sacred within. We come to discover, perhaps anew or for the first time, the ways the Sacred moves and dwells in us. We find rest for our weary selves and souls in communion with the Sacred One. Prayer in the midst of the abyss begins with silence and solitude – with our willingness to simply be. We may enter alone but can soon learn and feel and know we are not alone at all. It is here we discover the truest longings of our heart -our own deepest prayer. This is sacred space indeed! It is here we discover the truest longings of our heart -our own deepest prayer. It is here, through grace, where we find the courage to be profoundly open and honest. It is here where we find the strength and guidance to increase our ability to be in relationship with ourselves and others in community. And...it is here where we so intimately dwell in the presence of and experience the gentle touch of healing power and abiding Love of the One who created us. Peace on the JourneyNote: Pictured is a downward view of the Grand Canyon look-out point known as "The Abyss", taken on our trip there in 2007.
Dear Friends,
Many years ago I took my first trip to visit my aunt who at that time lived in southern New Mexico. One of the fun things we did was to spend an afternoon exploring the desert surrounding the little town where she lived. When I thought of desert, images of barrenness, lifelessness (except for snakes and other creepy creatures) and sand came to mind. After all, aren’t deserts desolate and deserted places? And who would want to willingly go to such a place, much less spend an entire afternoon there anyway?
In the gospel according to Mark (1:35) we find Jesus going “off to a deserted place, where he prayed”. Though only 35 verses into this gospel, it’s already the second time he went off on his own – into the desert; to a deserted place. Mark’s gospel does move along very quickly and the surrounding verses of this first Chapter are filled with activity – Jesus’ baptism, his many healings, teaching, the calling of some of his inner circle of disciples. His “fame” spread quickly, so much so that it must have become nearly impossible for Jesus to find the time to go off alone – to spend time in silence to rest, to ponder his life’s work, and to connect in an intimate way with his Abba, Father. And yet, he deliberately makes the time to do just that.
Let’s face it, we lead very busy lives. It’s the nature of our culture, society and upbringing to focus on doing. Remember the old saying, “Idle hands are the devil’s workshop”? Many (most?) of us are not very comfortable with silence. We may not find it easy or even desirable to go into the deserted place of our core being. After all, who knows what we might find there? Darkness, regret, painful memories, isolation, and other “creepy creatures” waiting to taunt us. And yet, it is within those deep recesses of our being, and through our willingness to go there, where we will come to discover not a barren desert of aloneness but the presence of the Sacred – the initial dim flicker of Light that beckons us and grows ever stronger and brighter guiding us, walking with us and leading us toward a deeper way of connecting with and being grasped by the truth of God’s abundant Love.
My experience of the New Mexico desert was truly an eye-opening experience. It was not at all what I ha
d imagined. Instead of a barren and lifeless place, 
it was graced with green growth, colorful flowers, grazing cattle, intriguing rock formations, a mountainous landscape that delighted my spirit and…one of the most beautiful sunsets I have ever seen. Imagine how richly God will surprise us as we dare to enter into our desert!Peace on the Journey
weather for a week of Florida warmth, or…maybe it’s all of the above that grants me the greatest permission to relax and notice and ponder the awesomeness of creation and the pure desire to listen to the Sacred voice within and around. There’s an easiness to the letting go and a compelling feeling of willingness to be led by the breath of the Spirit into the wilderness.
