Restore Us

Today's appointed Psalm 80 has this wonderful refrain, "Restore us, O God: Let your face shine, that we may be saved."  I reflect about this in the last Advent days leading up to Christmas. 

Advent is a beautiful time of waiting, wondering, wandering and of wanting.  In every sense, I cry out to God to be restored. That sense of deep longing for not only me, but us, to be restored, made whole, refreshed, re-newed.

With this refrain, we can remember that it is in the shining of God, the shining face of Christ in every person we meet, in the shining parts of creation around every turn, that we see a glimpse of wholeness, of God's saving grace. 

"Restore us, O God: Let your face shine, that we may be saved." Amen

Rhythm

Walking on the beach, I notice the sound of the waves.  Over and over, recurring, recycling, ...

It's quite soothing.  My feet feel the sand and walk, too, in rhythm to a different beat.  That beat is the one connecting my heart and my breathing to the pitter-patter as I shuffle along. That beat includes silences long and still between every thought.

I believe that God is alive in this rhythm, too, in the splash-gush splash-gush of waves.  God awakens the inspire and exhale of my breath.  In the kerthump, kerthump of my heart beat.  In the flitter of the tiny birds who scatter after gobbling sand crabs. In the lumbering swelling of water just before it crests into a wave.

Rhythm.  A new name for God. 

"Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you'll recover your life. I'll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won't lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you'll learn to live freely and lightly." Matthew 11:28 (The Message)

best friends.

Stefanie– my best friend

What I remember most about Stef is her deep,

total acceptance of me.  That’s how best friends are. That’s what they do.

Someone said to me recently, of “best friends”

that they are the ones who remember who you are

even when you don’t. 

And then you get to remind them

who they are, when they forget. 

And we go on like this, remembering our best selves,

holding each other to account,

forgiving each other for our humanness,

laughing with each other

in moments too mundane to ever forget. 

In the movie Avatar, the famous line spoke:

I SEE YOU. 

I believe this about Stefanie.  She saw me.

And she never turned away –

in fact, she sought me out. 

Even during her distressed life of living with cancer,

she always made time to ask how I was doing? 

How was my family?  How was Logan, my nephew?

When the time came for me to be baptized,

it was Stefanie (and John)

who presented me to the living waters,

to be marked as Christ’s own forever.

On that day, I wasn’t really sure what I was doing,

but these two held me up and gave me the courage walk in faith. 

That’s what best friends do.

I believe that Stefanie showed me

what it means to live with a tenacious hope

and a generous love. 

She showed up for me, in my time, and I for her. 

Even her “I’m going to tell this story all the way through” style

captivated me

and her “there’s nothing you can do to push me away” self

showed me how to love and laugh

and hope and dream.

And showed me how to believe in newness and freshness of life.

When I met Stefanie in 1990, she seemed familiar. 

Did that happen when you met her? 

She seemed to have a knack for getting to know folks

and remembering their names – like no one was ever a stranger. 

In fact, we laughed often about how we met at a BBQ in Brussels

nearly one year after we actually had attended the same

Pumpkin Carving party hosted by a mutual friend in San Francisco. 

And so it went, whatever trouble one of us was in,

we shared – whether

vomiting from drunkenness or chemotherapy,

crying from exhaustion at the end of a marathon or the end of a marriage,

talking about incidental anecdotes or incendiary politics...

we shared it. 

These are intimate moments reserved for best friends. 

And all happened will remain secrets between us. 

I recently found a poem that captures our friendship,

That way of being friends…

unlike any hallmark book can do. 

In Sweet Company

We sit together and I tell you things,

Silent, unborn, naked things

That only my God has heard me say.

You do not cluck your tongue at me

Or roll your eyes

Or split my heart into a thousand thousand pieces

With words that have little to do with me.

You do not turn away because you cannot bear to see

Your own unclaimed light shining in my eyes.

You stay with me in the dark.

You urge me into being.

You make room in your heart for my voice.

You rejoice in my joy.

And through it all, you stand unbound

By everything but the still, small Voice within you.

I see my future Self in you

Just enough to risk

Moving beyond the familiar,

Just enough to leave

The familiar in the past where it belongs.

I breathe you in and I breathe you out

In one luxurious and contented sigh.

In sweet company

I am home at last.

    – Margaret Wolff

Rest in peace, Steffie, my best friend

renewal

recipe for vacation:

sleep-in each day, well past normal waking hours

rise before the sun at least once

read a book until the sun sets

bake chocolate chip cookies from scratch and eat every one of them

walk on the beach at least a hour a day, mindfully

journal when muse shows up

pray silently on balcony overlooking the waves

follow training plan and run along sand prescribed (but estimated) distance, stepping in rivers and scaring seagulls out of the way

stay up late watching movies online

play scrabble. lose. have fun anyway.

stare at the beach area for minutes at a time. watch the waves, the birds, the (few) people. notice the dolphins.

dip or float in the over-heated pool

do nothing

breathe in

breathe out

pray without ceasing

show up to this moment

I hate the two-faced, but I love your clear-cut revelation. You're my place of quiet retreat; I wait for your Word to renew me. Ps 119:113 (The Message)

Beannacht

I can’t recall exactly when I heard Krista Tippett interview John O’Donohue on Speaking of Faith in 2008. I do recall when I downloaded the podcast and re-listened to it over and over...driving to and from Spartanburg last year.

And each time I heard the interview, this blessing touched my heart.

Beannacht

On the day when
the weight deadens
on your shoulders
and you stumble,
may the clay dance
to balance you.

And when your eyes
freeze behind
the grey window
and the ghost of loss
gets into you,
may a flock of colors,
indigo, red, green,
and azure blue
come to awaken in you
a meadow of delight.

When the canvas frays
in the currach of thought
and a stain of ocean
blackens beneath you,
may there come across the waters
a path of yellow moonlight
to bring you safely home.

May the nourishment of the earth be yours,
may the clarity of light be yours,
may the fluency of the ocean be yours,
may the protection of the ancestors be yours.

And so may a slow
wind work these words
of love around you,
an invisible cloak
to mind your life.

~ John O'Donohue ~

Parts of it increased my capacity to overcome my deep sadness after one particularly difficult "on-call" of seven deaths back to back. Parts of it connect me with a spiritual experience in a field of wildflowers near Aspen, Colorado. Parts of it remain a mystery – an unknowing; an invisible longing –the unanswered, humble feeling of which I grow more familiar with each read. All of it seems important to my spiritual journey as I show up to this moment, in this place.

In my work-a-day life there is much encouragement, positive attitude and teamwork - but sometimes it has has put gloss and spin on the outside, while abandoning any inner work –that is, leaving us all bereft of naming what is difficult, dark, real about our lives. That rigorous inner work made my chaplain residency program difficult and I grew to appreciate the authenticity gained by doing it.

However, these days,by deftly avoiding any difficult feelings,it seems that much of the webbing that holds us together in communion is lost. I seem to have lost a sense of belonging. I am familiar with this feeling and am pretty sure I’m not the only one that feels this way –and I sense that be-longing and re-membering is part of my call and part of our work as creators of a fresh expression of Church.

In the blessings that O’Donohue offers in his book, To Bless The Space Between Us, he addresses the gritty, sometimes dark realities of life.

He does so while simultaneously nudging the shoreline of the accompanying newness. In this blessing, he names quite clearly what it feels like to grieve and in this way I connect to it. By connecting to my darkness, I feel ready to accept the intimate warmth he offers in each verse. I belong.

In reflecting on the invocations for nourishment, clarity, fluency and protection, I feel understood and find hope.

In the first verse, the notion of deadening weight on my shoulders reminds me of stacking hay in our barn as a child. Back in the day, I could carry an entire bale on my back and hoist it onto a stack, no problem. Now, that hay bale comes in the form of my human failures, unkept agreements, unworked grief. While this weighs me down, I sense the weight on all our shoulders - global warming, political strife, recession and decline - and I sense paralysis.

This weight sometimes causes me to stumble. I love how this blessing- instead of exhorting me to“do more lunges so your legs are strong to endure a fall”, it is the earth who is invited to dance and to adjust with grace, to participate in my finding my balance.

In the second verse, I recall what it was like living in London. Most days the windows were grey, either from fog on the outside or humidity from the inside. It was a relief to rest my gaze on the window pane –not really focusing on the outside nor the inside of my apartment. I never did belong in London and I felt lost. Gazing at the window was relief. I chuckle at the idea of a flock of colors bursting into my apartment.

I recall with delight another time, when I hiked through the meadow of June wildflowers that covered the hillside just beyond the Maroon Bells in the Aspen (CO) wilderness. That day, I was sure that God threw confetti onto the mountain just for us to experience. It was breathtaking. And healing.

In the third verse, I am puzzled by“fraying canvas of a curragh.” I understand that a curragh is a type of Irish boat with a wooden frame, over which animal skins or hides were once stretched. (Nowadays, canvas is more usual.) Having done some boating, I can imagine the horror I might feel if the canvas that contains my boat begins to fray. And having done some snorkeling, I can connect with the fear of the deep black ocean beneath me and the unknown that lies beyond.

As a curragh of thought, I reflect on my assumptions – how have they been frayed? How have I relied on the “known”assumptional canvas that contains my understanding of God? Why do bad things happen to good people? Why do infants die? Why do murderers live? How can I console the family of the fatal car crash victim in one moment and sit with the driver of the car to console him the next? What would Jesus have me do?

And so, in these times, I yearn for a path of yellow moonlight, inspired by God, to bring me safely home.

For me, when I am offered the nourishment of the earth, I take communion. And when I am offered the clarity of light I know that I will see God face to face. And when I am offered the fluency of the ocean, I remember body surfing in Manhattan Beach and the joy of surprise waves. And when I am offered the protection of the ancestors, I join my voice with Angels and Archangels and all the company of heaven.

And so, in the slow wind of Spirit's presence, this blessing in this moment covers me with a flowing and protective cloak that minds my life and your life - into common life.

How are you showing up in this moment?

Roots and Rocks

Hiking in the fall reveals elements of earth.

Roots, to hold onto and to pull yourself up. Or to steady yourself in case of slippery foundations. Rocks, to climb over and to push upon. Or to steady yourself as a hand-hold when going vertical.

They work together, these roots and rocks, to make my hike possible. They challenge me, too, in their slippery and unpredictable ways.

I am reminded of how God's presence can seem like a root - something that grows into the foundation of my being, yet can provide a good hold for pulling me forward. Sometimes God is like that. God's presence can seem like a rock - something that feels so solid, captures the warmth of the sun around it, and holds my weight when I jump down. Sometimes God is like that, too.

When I pull with my arms and push with my legs, I am grateful for feeling my body work. God's in those muscles, that breath, that drop of sweat, that sense of being alive.

Thank you, God, for the earth and all that is in it. And for being present with me in the experience.

What roots and rocks are in your life, in this moment?

And Isaiah's word: There's the root of our ancestor Jesse, breaking through the earth and growing tree tall, Tall enough for everyone everywhere to see and take hope! Oh! May the God of green hope fill you up with joy, fill you up with peace, so that your believing lives, filled with the life-giving energy of the Holy Spirit, will brim over with hope! Romans 15:17 (The Message)

View Inside

My deskmate follows the Buddhist tradition in her spiritual practice. I guess that makes her a Buddhist?

I'm not sure about the vocabulary, so I looked it up: What Makes You a Buddhist?

It’s not the clothes you wear, the ceremonies you perform, or the meditation you do, says Dzongsar Jamyang Khyentse. It’s not what you eat, how much you drink, or who you have sex with. It’s whether you agree with the four fundamental discoveries the Buddha made under the Bodhi tree, and if you do, you can call yourself a Buddhist.

We have wonderful conversations about our faith practices. I am inspired by her unconditional positive regard for life, for me, for our situation, for others. I am inspired by her capacity to let everything become her teacher, through the healing power of mindfulness.

The other day, she explained to me how she went for a "sitting" at a nearby meditation center. As she was preparing to enter the sanctuary, she remarked to the meditation guide about the beautiful view out over the blue-ish, smokey-ish mountains. The guide's response was equal expression of awe. The she turned, and said something like, "wouldn't it be nice to see that when we look inside!"

When my deskmate shared that thought with me, I reflected on what a paradox that is. And how grateful that I can learn from her a liberating notion - to look inside at the inner view. I have been thinking about that ever since - is that what God sees when God looks inside?

What is your inside view, in this moment?

When experience is viewed in a certain way, it presents nothing but doorways into the soul. Jon Kabat-Zinn

Kids These Days

We went to college student potluck last weekend.

My first thought was, "oh, great. raman noodles, mac-n-cheese, dumpster-dived day old bread chunks." But then, I realized, this is not your typical group of college students. No, these folks attend Warren Wilson College.

After small talk, the live-in resident coordinator welcomed us all and we introduced ourselves. While we listened to each student describe their wonderful creative dishes, our mouths salivated with new taste buds ready to dig in. We shared our gratitude for each other and for God's great abundance in our midst.

What was on the menu? Fasten your ever-expanding seat belts, it included:

• Peanut butter stew (nuts were used in the making of this dish)


• Quinoa with spices


• Quesadilla with chipolte chile


• Penne pasta and red pepper salad


• Sweet potato bisquits


• Marinated roasted red peppers and kale


• Organic, fresh-picked cucumbers and butternut squash (from the Biodiversity farm nearby) and homemade pesto


• Rice and beans with coconut milk


• Green beans with slivered almonds


• Coconut and honey cookie dough blobs (not sure that's what they were called, but they were deliciously slurppy)


• Multi-berry crisp topped with homemade ice cream

We feasted!

We lounged in the student's dorm living room on well-worn couches and floor pillows with pile-high plates on our laps. As we munched and commented, we (the few "staff/faculty" folks who were privileged to be invited) rejoiced in "kids these days" who out of their own poverty and excessive creativity of "anything is possible" prepared this wonderful feast.

The future is bright, indeed, with kids like these!

When Jesus saw what was happening, he was angry with his disciples. He said to them, “Let the children come to me. Don’t stop them! For the Kingdom of God belongs to those who are like these children. Mark 10:14

How are you finding God in "kids these days"?

The Day's Prayer

"I know that a chapter on prayer belongs in this book, but I dread writing it," so begins Barbara Brown Taylor in An Altar In The World, Chapter 11, The Practice of Being Present to God.

We have been dining sumptuously on this book for the last three weeks in our program. The book is chock-full of incarnational anecdotes and insights that kept me wanting to read more. Each chapter voiced "my thoughts exactly!" or "I can't believe she just wrote that!"

For today's "book club" review with our supervisor, we walked to the nearby park. Our assignment? Write a prayer about what the day was expressing to us. So here goes.

I am delicate bubbles on the stream

filled with the full breath of life.

If you have ears to hear

let the tone resonate in your heart.

I am the slime on the rocks

beneath your feet.

If you have bare feet to balance

let my ice cold water refresh your soreness.

I am the stickery blades of dry grass

next to the new growth of clover.

If you have wiggly toes that separate

let my fur wrap your digits with love.

Listen. The birds harmonize.

Breathe. The warm air softens every edge.

Move. I am alive.

In you.

Beauty Tips

I entered the enlivened conversation mid-afternoon. Three elderly women in the behavioral health unit sharing beauty tips. I had to pinch myself. It was so fun!

"My mother says that mustard crust will get rid of crow's feet around my eyes."

"Oh yea? Did you know you can take an orange and just squeeze the juice directly on these rings, here, under your eyes and that will be so refreshing?"

"Well, I heard from a white woman that you can take Crisco lard and paint it on your face, like this...and do you know that in the morning you will feel like a whole new woman?"

"Once I even took a piece of fat back, doused in salt, and rubbed it all over my body - it was so cleansing - then I felt soooo beautiful!"

"Oh, have you tried honey? Yea, baby, you just drip honey all over your face and then down your neck... it feels so good!"

"I even took egg whites one time, and pasted it right here... it really helped my neck wrinkles."

"You women and your make up - you don't need any rouge or lipstick! Try cool-aid! I'm telling you, I can't read or write, but I can do natural make up! And it don't even get on the collar of your man!"

The bubble over my head was, "Just think... if it doesn't work, at least you can eat it!"

Before a girl's turn came to go in to King Xerxes, she had to complete twelve months of beauty treatments prescribed for the women, six months with oil of myrrh and six with perfumes and cosmetics. ...When the turn came for Esther (the girl Mordecai had adopted, the daughter of his uncle Abihail) to go to the king, she asked for nothing other than what Hegai, the king's eunuch who was in charge of the harem, suggested. And Esther won the favor of everyone who saw her. She was taken to King Xerxes in the royal residence in the tenth month, the month of Tebeth, in the seventh year of his reign. Esther 2:12...16

In this moment, what is your natural beauty tip?

Developing Pastoral Image

For our final session in "Pastoral Images" course, our assignment was to integrate our reading from Dykstra's book to form a pastoral images of our own style of care. What metaphor works for me? Wounded Healer? Intimate Stranger? Wise Fool?

As I thought about the last five months, I realized that I am finding a deep faith in how God moves me and enlivens me in my care giving. I variously serve as a witness, companion, investigator, awkward hospital staff person, translator, interpreter, loving listener, reframer of perspectives and affirmer of God’s love.

It suddenly hit me today, Saturday, as I watched the World Famous Lipizzaner Stallions. The presentation of these amazing athletes by their equally well-educated riders captured my imagination as I realized how the role of the Dressage rider/trainer resonated so well for me and my pastoral functioning.

The idea of dressage is a way of training the horse to emphasize a horse's natural athletic ability and willingness to perform, so that its potential as a riding horse can be maximized. A fully trained horse will smoothly respond to a skilled rider's minimal aids - all the while the rider remains relaxed and appearing effortless. In chaplaincy, I find that my role is to smoothly respond as a rider, with minimal aid, remaining relaxed and making it look effortless – so that the patient/family can sense their own potential as a human being in which God delights.

The Lipizzaner horses, in particular, are bred for their athletic ability and are allowed to roam free until they are four years old. During this time, the trainers observe the horses in the natural environment and learn their natural rhythm. Only after this waiting time do the trainers begin to work with the horses for re-enacting their athletic ballet moves in the show ring. In chaplaincy, there is a bit of a "waiting time" associated with caregiving, in which I observe the situation and am better able to invite the care seeker to re-enact their own theology or to realize God’s ever-presence and how it can bear on the situation. This “background” perspective informs my pastoral functioning.

Historically, it was Xenophon (427-355 BCE) who is well known as one of the earliest European master trainers. His treatises, written in Greek, advocated the use of sympathetic training of the horse and many of his methods and ideas are still widely praised. Also in Christianity, there is a long tradition of pastoral care methods and these are mirrored in my pastoral image formation. With God's help, I hope to bring this long tradition to bear on the moment of care.

The Dressage Rider/Trainers train the horses to fully use their artistic ballet gifts, such as changing lead on every step at a canter, take years to master by the horse as well as the rider who needs to learn the appropriate cues. As a chaplain, my role is also to recognize the inner life of the care seeker and connect with my own, so that together our histories can find something new in our time together.

Further, the rider/trainer's goal is to have the show be about the horse, not the rider. The riders themselves have learned their own skills for riding and cuing the horse over years of education, usually a lifetime. The less obvious the moves are, the more effective the “show” is and the horse’s true essence comes out. This is much like chaplaincy. The less “showy” I find that I am, the more of God can show up and the more the patient/family is central to the intervention.

Even though there are standardized methods, each combination of horse and rider is unique. With horses, it is not uncommon that one horse trained to perform at a high level may be completely spooked by a venue that is loud or unfamiliar. The trainer’s role is to deal with the venue that comes up and work with the horse’s personality in that moment to bring out the horse’s gifts and graces in that particular instance. As it is with each pastoral intervention, where every relationship of chaplain and family is unique and changes based on the patient’s diagnosis/prognosis or sense of the future. As a chaplain, I am learning to adjust my interventions, my use of “training methods” to each situation.

Riding horses requires balance, harmony and relationship. This subtle type of sport requires some translation of ideas to the horse and interpretation from the horse’s response back to the rider. The rider must always listen to what the horse is “saying” in silence – through body language (horse’s ears are perked or lay back, how the horse moves away from or into the leg pressure or even how the horse may cling to the bit or avert from the movement of the reins). The chaplain, too, must listen to what the care seeker is "saying" in silence - through body language, facial expressions and reactions to others in the room. My role as chaplain is to then translate what's going on and interpret how the care seeker is responding to have any sense of how we can be together in the care intervention and become aware of God's ever-presence.

Sometimes, training a horse involves reframing a“scary” situation, such as “threading the needle” movement. In this movement, horses face one another as the riders guide them and weave between their neighbor horse/riders. Normally, horses avert or shy way from trotting or cantering directly towards another horse. Only after coaxing by the rider and developed trust in the relationship does the horse allow this “threading the needle” move. This kind of relationship takes loving listening, companionship, and true affirmation from both the rider to the horse and from the horse to the rider.

In chaplain work, I find that some patient/families, while gifted in other situations, are completely "spooked" by being at the hospital - a venue about which they are unfamiliar. When appropriate, I might reframe a ‘scary” situation for the patient/family into one of “normalcy”. This usually takes time, trust, and relationship. My pastoral functioning is one of relationship as is dressage riding.

In Dressage, as in Chaplaincy, both the horse and the rider (care seeker and chaplain) become more of themselves through this relationship – they know their own strengths and weaknesses individually. As a unit, something new happens.

Grace and beauty

For the LORD will rebuild Zion and appear in his glory. He will respond to the prayer of the destitute; e will not despise their plea. Let this be written for a future generation, that a people not yet created may praise the LORD - Psalm 102:16-18 (New International Version)

Time. Out.

This week I am taking a time out.

The image uploaded shows the morning sunrise from our window of this worn-out but beach-side apartment we rented for the week. I love the way the sun poked through the clouds and highlighted the waves that come crashing into the beach.

Long beach walks. Sandy yoga by the pool. Beach scum on my sunglasses. Sweaty runs along the water. Canceled surf lessons ("too windy") and lazy afternoons reading a very long book that I have (603 pages).

I recall one of my priest friends telling me that part of his job description includes "not going crazy." I think that taking a time out falls in that category.

Just rest, the meditation tape says.

okay.