Dear Friends,
It pretty much goes without saying, this week in the Christian liturgical calendar marks Holy Week – the week where, beginning with Palm (or Passion) Sunday, we focus on the events surrounding the death of Jesus. We read and hear about the last supper with his disciples, the anointing of his feet, his washing the feet of his disciples as an example of servant leadership, his agony in the garden, his betrayal by Judas, his arrest, his “trial”, his condemnation, his journey to Golgotha, and his death by crucifixion. Through all this we are so intimately focused on the cross; on Jesus’ death. And we may have been told that we attain salvation through Jesus’ death. Now, I am not denying this, yet I wonder… I wonder if there's more...
Our early Christian ancestors focused most on Jesus’ life and healing ministry and teachings rather than on his death or the cross…until the fourth century…until Constantine. Legend has it Constantine, before invading Italy, saw a blazing cross in the sky with the words “in this sign you will be the victor” and he literally took that as confirmation of impending victory. Constantine did conquer Italy, the final territory of his vast Western empire. Thus, because of Constantine, began Christianity’s love affair with the cross even to the point of another legend that has Constantine’s mother claiming to find the actual crucifixion cross, even to the point of the dark times of Christianity during the brutal and murderous crusades.
I wonder… Is it possible the earliest, pre-Constantine Christians knew and lived something we may have forgotten or perhaps dismiss particularly during this final week of Lent? Could it be in their remembering at table, the telling of the stories of Jesus’ life and works and in the breaking of the bread and the sharing of the cup, in their house churches the salvation offered to all focused intimately on the unconditionally loving act of God breaking into the world in human form and the compassionate, inclusive ways Jesus was present throughout his life? Could it be that throughout the ages we have been taught more about the “value” of suffering and death than of joy life and love?
All this is not an either/or proposition. No, it’s a both/and. Suffering and death have much to teach us. To watch someone suffer and/or die, or to be the one suffering, can teach us how to do so with dignity and grace. It can teach us about helplessness and that there are times in life when we are not in control. It can also teach us how to become compassionate care givers and grateful care receivers. It can teach us about empathy and being present and holy silence and spiritual healing. It can teach us about having faith - that even if or when no one is there we are not alone, for the Sacred One is our constant companion. It can teach us about what really matters. It can teach us about life – our own, others’ and all created life. It can teach us about love and the deep and constant love of the One who loved us first - the One who broke into the world to live among us in human form, the One who dwells with us intimately woven in the very fabric of our lives. And yet, these are not only the lessons of suffering or of death...these are also lessons of life and love. Both/And.
Peace on the Journey
Showing posts with label Lent. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Lent. Show all posts
04 April 2009
28 March 2009
Being Unbound: 29 March 2009
Dear Friends,
A few years ago we built a couple of raised gardens, surrounding them with a weed barrier covered by bark. In the smaller raised garden I planted a mix of wild flowers. Now, I am by no means a master gardener nor am I all that certain if it’s annuals or perennials that come up every year, at least not without looking it up, so I was a bit surprised the ga
rden did so well. Once in full bloom, there was a beautiful display of brilliant colors and flowers that were a delight to my eye and the hummingbirds and butterflies as well throughout the summer and into autumn. At the end of the season, as the frosty weather arrived, I set about clearing the now dried up plants out the gardens. Winter came and went and the following spring plans were made to plant vegetables in both gardens. As the growing season came along, I noticed something a bit odd: surrounding the smaller garden, pushing through the weed barrier and bark, emerged some of the wild flower plants, which apparently seeded themselves the previous fall. Once again there were abundant flowers and colors to grace the landscape but this time around the vegetable gardens and this time I had not planted them there. They rose up anew and in a very different place. And…they continue to do so, in new places, every year.
I ponder this today as I begin planning this year’s garden and wonder where these wild flowers will emerge this year. I wonder if even though having been planted somewhere specific for a season of life, the scattering of the seeds that are our lives, causing us to be raised up in a new place (in mind, in heart, in spirituality) and time is not only possible but perhaps inevitable.
The story of Raising Lazarus (John 11:1-45) is another familiar one for many of us. Jesus hears Lazarus is ill, waits instead of rushing to him, Lazarus dies and is placed in a tomb, Jesus arrives and calls to Lazarus to come out – and Lazarus does. My curious mind would really like to know what happened to Lazarus after being raised up. What did he do? Was he different? How was his life different? Or, was it life as usual? Did they have a party to celebrate? But…I get stuck on the final words of Jesus: “Untie him and let him go” (verse 44). And I think those words have a lot to do with us and our religious and spiritual dimensions.
Part of taking inventory, or pondering our lives – where we’ve been, where we are, where we’re going, even who we are – can often bring us to questions: Am I in the right place? Have my beliefs changed or grown since childhood? Are my beliefs all wrapped up and tucked safely away in an unchanging and confining box? Is it even conceivable for me to imagine being outside the box of my own making? How do I define who God is now? Is there a possibility that the ties that have bound me (in faith, in thinking, in living) can be loosened to allow the seeds of me to be planted and allowed to flourish and blossom in a new place or in a new way?
And then there are two other important questions…What ARE the ties that do bind me? And do I choose to be unbound and scattered into newness by the breath of the Sacred Mover?
Peace on the Journey
A few years ago we built a couple of raised gardens, surrounding them with a weed barrier covered by bark. In the smaller raised garden I planted a mix of wild flowers. Now, I am by no means a master gardener nor am I all that certain if it’s annuals or perennials that come up every year, at least not without looking it up, so I was a bit surprised the ga
rden did so well. Once in full bloom, there was a beautiful display of brilliant colors and flowers that were a delight to my eye and the hummingbirds and butterflies as well throughout the summer and into autumn. At the end of the season, as the frosty weather arrived, I set about clearing the now dried up plants out the gardens. Winter came and went and the following spring plans were made to plant vegetables in both gardens. As the growing season came along, I noticed something a bit odd: surrounding the smaller garden, pushing through the weed barrier and bark, emerged some of the wild flower plants, which apparently seeded themselves the previous fall. Once again there were abundant flowers and colors to grace the landscape but this time around the vegetable gardens and this time I had not planted them there. They rose up anew and in a very different place. And…they continue to do so, in new places, every year.I ponder this today as I begin planning this year’s garden and wonder where these wild flowers will emerge this year. I wonder if even though having been planted somewhere specific for a season of life, the scattering of the seeds that are our lives, causing us to be raised up in a new place (in mind, in heart, in spirituality) and time is not only possible but perhaps inevitable.
The story of Raising Lazarus (John 11:1-45) is another familiar one for many of us. Jesus hears Lazarus is ill, waits instead of rushing to him, Lazarus dies and is placed in a tomb, Jesus arrives and calls to Lazarus to come out – and Lazarus does. My curious mind would really like to know what happened to Lazarus after being raised up. What did he do? Was he different? How was his life different? Or, was it life as usual? Did they have a party to celebrate? But…I get stuck on the final words of Jesus: “Untie him and let him go” (verse 44). And I think those words have a lot to do with us and our religious and spiritual dimensions.
Part of taking inventory, or pondering our lives – where we’ve been, where we are, where we’re going, even who we are – can often bring us to questions: Am I in the right place? Have my beliefs changed or grown since childhood? Are my beliefs all wrapped up and tucked safely away in an unchanging and confining box? Is it even conceivable for me to imagine being outside the box of my own making? How do I define who God is now? Is there a possibility that the ties that have bound me (in faith, in thinking, in living) can be loosened to allow the seeds of me to be planted and allowed to flourish and blossom in a new place or in a new way?
And then there are two other important questions…What ARE the ties that do bind me? And do I choose to be unbound and scattered into newness by the breath of the Sacred Mover?
Peace on the Journey
21 March 2009
Blind Spots: 22 March 2009
Dear Friends,
Driving along one day and coming up on a yield sign intending to make a right turn, I stopped, looked for approaching vehicles from the left and saw none. So I began to make the turn only to hear the very near sound of a horn blowing, causing me to slam on the brakes. Sure enough, a mini van had appeared seemingly out of nowhere. It sure was a close call, and a collision was gratefully avoided. Even though I followed the “rules of the road” by obeying the yield sign, stopping and looking, I missed seeing that mini van. It was in my “blind spot”. I’m much more deliberate about stopping and looking at yield signs these days,
probably to the dismay of drivers behind me who think I’m taking way too much time. But no matter how carefully we adjust our rearview and side view mirrors or stop and “look both ways”, when driving we all experience blind spots.
Life is like that too.
We encounter blind spots – events and reactions that we didn’t see coming. We cannot possibly anticipate or plan for all the twists and turns life brings to us but we can move through them; even learn from them and grow as a result of them.
Often times we discover blind spots along the way in our quest to connect with the Sacred – places in our heart where we operate with spiritual blinders on. We have learned (or heard) of the unconditional love of the Eternal Creator, but we may have come to think ourselves unworthy of that love. We may have been taught what it means to have faith but now view faith as being blind – a belief in something or someone that we don’t know for sure is “out there”. We may have been told there is ONE way to express our faith and yet our hearts move us into questioning, wondering, and yes, even doubt causing others to see us a faithless or less “spiritual”.
The story of the “Man Born Blind” (John 9:1-41) is a discourse on spiritual blindness – or stubbornness - where many of the characters refuse to see (or even entertain) the possibility of “out-of-the-box” faith. The Box: strict adherence to the laws - for the sake of the laws - including no work, even compassionate, healing work, on the Sabbath; physical blindness is caused by a person’s (or their parent’s) sin; no possibility of (in this case) the Pharisees being blind themselves; fear of being cast out rather than rejoicing in healing. When we step out of the box and allow ourselves to realize faith, or the Sacred One, cannot be neatly and safely contained in our little boxes of human making, we open ourselves up to possibilities. We see that although rules are sometimes necessary or their intention usually good, LOVE surpasses them all. We see that human illness, blindness, and other physical ailments that cause suffering are not caused a sin we have committed (though sometimes they are the result of poor heath choices), but by conditions of our humanity. We see that faith is not blind at all, but those who impose strict adherence on us or dismiss the uniqueness of each person's faith experience or journey stifle possibility of spiritual growth and the very faith they propose to "enrich".
Living our faith is a life-long journey of spiritual growth and discovery where we dare to allow all our questions and doubts to emerge. It is here, in the silence of our hearts, where we encounter our own spiritual blind spots and gain the courage to cry out to the Holy One “I want to see!” And healing is possible.
Peace on the Journey
Driving along one day and coming up on a yield sign intending to make a right turn, I stopped, looked for approaching vehicles from the left and saw none. So I began to make the turn only to hear the very near sound of a horn blowing, causing me to slam on the brakes. Sure enough, a mini van had appeared seemingly out of nowhere. It sure was a close call, and a collision was gratefully avoided. Even though I followed the “rules of the road” by obeying the yield sign, stopping and looking, I missed seeing that mini van. It was in my “blind spot”. I’m much more deliberate about stopping and looking at yield signs these days,
probably to the dismay of drivers behind me who think I’m taking way too much time. But no matter how carefully we adjust our rearview and side view mirrors or stop and “look both ways”, when driving we all experience blind spots.Life is like that too.
We encounter blind spots – events and reactions that we didn’t see coming. We cannot possibly anticipate or plan for all the twists and turns life brings to us but we can move through them; even learn from them and grow as a result of them.
Often times we discover blind spots along the way in our quest to connect with the Sacred – places in our heart where we operate with spiritual blinders on. We have learned (or heard) of the unconditional love of the Eternal Creator, but we may have come to think ourselves unworthy of that love. We may have been taught what it means to have faith but now view faith as being blind – a belief in something or someone that we don’t know for sure is “out there”. We may have been told there is ONE way to express our faith and yet our hearts move us into questioning, wondering, and yes, even doubt causing others to see us a faithless or less “spiritual”.
The story of the “Man Born Blind” (John 9:1-41) is a discourse on spiritual blindness – or stubbornness - where many of the characters refuse to see (or even entertain) the possibility of “out-of-the-box” faith. The Box: strict adherence to the laws - for the sake of the laws - including no work, even compassionate, healing work, on the Sabbath; physical blindness is caused by a person’s (or their parent’s) sin; no possibility of (in this case) the Pharisees being blind themselves; fear of being cast out rather than rejoicing in healing. When we step out of the box and allow ourselves to realize faith, or the Sacred One, cannot be neatly and safely contained in our little boxes of human making, we open ourselves up to possibilities. We see that although rules are sometimes necessary or their intention usually good, LOVE surpasses them all. We see that human illness, blindness, and other physical ailments that cause suffering are not caused a sin we have committed (though sometimes they are the result of poor heath choices), but by conditions of our humanity. We see that faith is not blind at all, but those who impose strict adherence on us or dismiss the uniqueness of each person's faith experience or journey stifle possibility of spiritual growth and the very faith they propose to "enrich".
Living our faith is a life-long journey of spiritual growth and discovery where we dare to allow all our questions and doubts to emerge. It is here, in the silence of our hearts, where we encounter our own spiritual blind spots and gain the courage to cry out to the Holy One “I want to see!” And healing is possible.
Peace on the Journey
13 March 2009
Thirsty? :15 March 2009
Dear Friends,
For most of my life I’ve lived near water – Lake Michigan. The few years I did not, it wasn’t very far away and just knowing it was within easy driving distance was such a c
omfort. I am drawn to water – its peacefulness on a calm day, the sight of waves crashing over the piers when the wind is strong, the changing colors as clouds drift by, the reflection of city lights on its surface at night and of the sun at it’s rising in the morning. Water is a powerful element that captures my attention, even draws me to behold its beauty and fury. I am enchanted with its flowing rhythms that continually change our landscape.
Water has the quality of quenching our physical thirst, but what about our spiritual thirst? What do we truly thirst for in the depths of our hearts?
As we read the story of the “Woman at the Well” (John 4:5-42), we learn of spiritual thirst. It’s not a thirst that will be satisfied by our drinking in or surrounding ourselves with more “stuff”. It is that deep longing in the core of our being that can only begin to be satisfied by encountering the Sacred One. When we find the courage to enter into the silence and holy ground of our core being, we open ourselves to the cleansing, healing, comforting, renewing waters of pure Love. It is here we uncover just what it is that we truly thirst for and…what truly matters. Deep within we become immersed in the rhythmic movement of the Sacred and allow our inner landscape to be reshaped and transformed. And we can emerge refreshed, renewed and peaceful knowing we can return again and again to that place of life-giving water.
For what do you thirst? Ready to take the plunge?
Peace on the Journey
For most of my life I’ve lived near water – Lake Michigan. The few years I did not, it wasn’t very far away and just knowing it was within easy driving distance was such a c
omfort. I am drawn to water – its peacefulness on a calm day, the sight of waves crashing over the piers when the wind is strong, the changing colors as clouds drift by, the reflection of city lights on its surface at night and of the sun at it’s rising in the morning. Water is a powerful element that captures my attention, even draws me to behold its beauty and fury. I am enchanted with its flowing rhythms that continually change our landscape.Water has the quality of quenching our physical thirst, but what about our spiritual thirst? What do we truly thirst for in the depths of our hearts?
As we read the story of the “Woman at the Well” (John 4:5-42), we learn of spiritual thirst. It’s not a thirst that will be satisfied by our drinking in or surrounding ourselves with more “stuff”. It is that deep longing in the core of our being that can only begin to be satisfied by encountering the Sacred One. When we find the courage to enter into the silence and holy ground of our core being, we open ourselves to the cleansing, healing, comforting, renewing waters of pure Love. It is here we uncover just what it is that we truly thirst for and…what truly matters. Deep within we become immersed in the rhythmic movement of the Sacred and allow our inner landscape to be reshaped and transformed. And we can emerge refreshed, renewed and peaceful knowing we can return again and again to that place of life-giving water.
For what do you thirst? Ready to take the plunge?
Peace on the Journey
06 March 2009
Transitioning: 8 March 2009
Dear Friends,
Just a few days ago my friend and I were strolling barefoot along the Atlantic beach in beautiful, sunny 80 degree weather. It all felt so surreal. With each winter journey to this southern part of the country, I continue to marvel at the vast difference in winter weather here as compared to my native Wisconsin. While away, snowstorm "Julia" left yet another blanketing of snow over northeast Wisconsin. But my friend assures me this has been a "cold" winter...by Florida standards.
Sitting once again in utter awe of the vastness of the ocean, I ponder
ed all that just the sight of it had to teach me: the constant repetition of the waves rolling in, the abundant life hidden in its depths, the rhythmic movement of the ebb and flow of the tide, the shaping and reforming of the beach landscape (to name a few). The sight is absolutely mesmerizing! I couldn't help thinking how good it is to be here at this place and a bit of longing to hold on to being in this place crept in. Perhaps this feeling was akin to that of an excited Peter wanting to build those tents to capture and hold on to the magnificence of what he had just witnessed - what we have come to know as the Transfiguration on the mountain (Mark 9:2-5). But alas, Peter could not stay on the mountain or for that matter in that event, forever. Just as I must return home and tend to life and love there (as most all of us come to realize when away on vacation), so too Peter had much reason to go back down the mountain - so much to yet experience, learn, and live; so many ways to be shaped by the events to come.
Sometimes returning is not easy. It most always means a sense of leaving or leaving behind - a relaxed and peaceful time, a time of renewal of spirit, friends or relatives who will once again be separated from us by way too many miles. Returning can also mean we'll be immersed once again in the busyness or ordinariness or even messiness of our lives. But in the end, we do return - we must.
Lent calls us to return - to return to the Sacred One with all our hearts. It too beckons us to leave something of ourselves behind - not to deny what or who we are or even to give up some "treat" or "thing" in an attempt to "follow the rules". I believe living Lent to its fullness is an invitation to search our hearts - to take a survey of our way of living - and to discover again or anew what truly matters most. And in the process, we will most likely encounter parts of us that just might need to be changed, to be tweaked, to be left behind. This is not an easy or comfortable task nor is it a time to wallow in a "poor me" state of mind and heart. And yet, becoming fully aware of what it is in ourselves and our lives that may draw us to be less than our true self is part of not only Lent but sums up our whole life long spiritual journey. We are invited into a continual movement toward discovery and transition where along the way some most profound revelations really do come to light.
Even as I sat on the beach pondering and beholding the ocean, thoughts of an all too soon return home invaded consciousness. The memory of my time here and the journey into quiet, solitude, rest and peacefulness it provided will be forever embedded in my being. Yes, it is good to be here. But it's a "both/and". It is also good to be in transition - a movement toward going back to life at home with a renewed and refreshed heart and a clearer sense of what truly matters.
Peace on the Journey
Just a few days ago my friend and I were strolling barefoot along the Atlantic beach in beautiful, sunny 80 degree weather. It all felt so surreal. With each winter journey to this southern part of the country, I continue to marvel at the vast difference in winter weather here as compared to my native Wisconsin. While away, snowstorm "Julia" left yet another blanketing of snow over northeast Wisconsin. But my friend assures me this has been a "cold" winter...by Florida standards.
Sitting once again in utter awe of the vastness of the ocean, I ponder
ed all that just the sight of it had to teach me: the constant repetition of the waves rolling in, the abundant life hidden in its depths, the rhythmic movement of the ebb and flow of the tide, the shaping and reforming of the beach landscape (to name a few). The sight is absolutely mesmerizing! I couldn't help thinking how good it is to be here at this place and a bit of longing to hold on to being in this place crept in. Perhaps this feeling was akin to that of an excited Peter wanting to build those tents to capture and hold on to the magnificence of what he had just witnessed - what we have come to know as the Transfiguration on the mountain (Mark 9:2-5). But alas, Peter could not stay on the mountain or for that matter in that event, forever. Just as I must return home and tend to life and love there (as most all of us come to realize when away on vacation), so too Peter had much reason to go back down the mountain - so much to yet experience, learn, and live; so many ways to be shaped by the events to come.Sometimes returning is not easy. It most always means a sense of leaving or leaving behind - a relaxed and peaceful time, a time of renewal of spirit, friends or relatives who will once again be separated from us by way too many miles. Returning can also mean we'll be immersed once again in the busyness or ordinariness or even messiness of our lives. But in the end, we do return - we must.
Lent calls us to return - to return to the Sacred One with all our hearts. It too beckons us to leave something of ourselves behind - not to deny what or who we are or even to give up some "treat" or "thing" in an attempt to "follow the rules". I believe living Lent to its fullness is an invitation to search our hearts - to take a survey of our way of living - and to discover again or anew what truly matters most. And in the process, we will most likely encounter parts of us that just might need to be changed, to be tweaked, to be left behind. This is not an easy or comfortable task nor is it a time to wallow in a "poor me" state of mind and heart. And yet, becoming fully aware of what it is in ourselves and our lives that may draw us to be less than our true self is part of not only Lent but sums up our whole life long spiritual journey. We are invited into a continual movement toward discovery and transition where along the way some most profound revelations really do come to light.
Even as I sat on the beach pondering and beholding the ocean, thoughts of an all too soon return home invaded consciousness. The memory of my time here and the journey into quiet, solitude, rest and peacefulness it provided will be forever embedded in my being. Yes, it is good to be here. But it's a "both/and". It is also good to be in transition - a movement toward going back to life at home with a renewed and refreshed heart and a clearer sense of what truly matters.
Peace on the Journey
24 February 2009
Out of the Desert: 1 March 2009
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
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
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