"I have sworn and made up my mind to obey your decrees." Psalm 119.
We are companions on this journey. That is a blessing not everyone receives. To be one in heart and mind is within the grasp of our Sacrament. To be seen within the world as Christ, working through us is our greatest gift. We so rarely walk alone.
You have your gifts and I have mine. This is God's will for all of us. But it is also His will that in Communion, the gifts he gives to each of us should be united. This is why we assemble in community to share the common prayers.
The prayers he gives us are life-changing. We embrace them because we want to be changed. We experience the changes differently as He brings out from within us that which He has placed there. Then, in community, we unite our various gifts and the Body is made whole.
Tonight, when I sat down to pray, I knew I was not alone. For everyone who prays is united in the Body of Christ. It is not a function of time or place, or who is or who isn't present. It is the prayer, given to us by Christ, and our willingness to embrace it, that opens us to His love, and allows Him to enter in and transform our lives. We are changed from within. His grace, his plan. We trust Him to do it, and our lives are so much easier and more peaceful.
I know we are both growing. He would not have it otherwise. He wants us here, he wants us to pray and to trust. Everything else, our purpose, our work, and our life will be revealed to us in his time and his way. Keep your heart open. Listen and watch. Pray every day and He will do it.
Thank you for your love, your fellowship, your advice and your peace. In my life there is no one else like you, and no one who so clearly shows His light for me.
I am, Yours, Tom
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Friday, February 26, 2010
The Blue FIres of Dawn
I should explain the title. Years ago JoAnne and I were vacationing at a cabin in the Bradshaw Mountains. Early one morning I walked out to see the sun rise. It was the hour when sailors set their watches, the hour of the first real light. It rises above the horizon like blue flames. Scientists tell me that the sun has two "fires". The familiar sun is the burning ball that rises brilliantly over the line at daybreak. But there is another fire, a huge, blazing cloak of plasma that shoots out and away from the sun millions of miles. This plasma is the color of the flame on my gas stove. It is blue and it emits enough light to appear (on a clear morning) like an immense wall of flame long before the orb rises. It is so immense that the whole eastern horizon looks as if it is on fire. In Arizona, especially in the mountains, the air is so clear you can almost see its folds.
Now, that first time I saw it I was swept away. It's sort of compelling to realize that the sun is much larger than we think, taking that energized sphere of fire into account. And somewhere deep inside it revealed something to me of the nature of God, who is also much bigger than we think. In fact, God is so big, we cannot truly "think" him. We can only stand there and behold. So, whenever I see the Blue Fires of Dawn, I think of God and his glory, which arrives ahead of him and drives away the night.
That's how we'll know he is coming. When his glory appears and we are awakened.
Now, that first time I saw it I was swept away. It's sort of compelling to realize that the sun is much larger than we think, taking that energized sphere of fire into account. And somewhere deep inside it revealed something to me of the nature of God, who is also much bigger than we think. In fact, God is so big, we cannot truly "think" him. We can only stand there and behold. So, whenever I see the Blue Fires of Dawn, I think of God and his glory, which arrives ahead of him and drives away the night.
That's how we'll know he is coming. When his glory appears and we are awakened.
The Quiet
It's funny. The Quiet is so strong, so compelling. I want to write about it but when I try, there is nothing to say, no words. Only the Quiet...
The Quiet is like a person who visits without phoning, not a friend so much as a teacher, but not a teacher so much as a Watcher and a Guide. When the Quiet arrives I look for my shoes and coat. It is time to go somewhere. The Quiet is hard to describe.
There is another, like the Quiet, but even harder to talk about. The Awareness is a moment when everything pauses and nothing seems like itself. The sky, the land, the buildings are all painted pictures on scrim. The whole world is a theater set, an illusion behind which something greater moves. I step out of the moment to stand in the company of the Awareness, to stare at reality waiting for the curtain to go up. Waiting for something even greater than the Quiet to begin. I live surrounded by angels and guides. When they come near, life must pause, for they have the presence of the One I seek within themselves. That is what I am feeling. That is why all the world bows in recognition...
These feelings are brief, and when they leave I feel my real poverty... but I also feel my real wealth. For how can I cry out against the one Who comes when he chooses to withdraw? I am never abandoned, only poor, and my poverty is his poverty. He knows how it feels.
I love the world which is Heaven and its people. I feel like the luckiest wanderer who, coming over a mountain sees the Kingdom at last, spreading out before me. But the Franciscans teach that the Kingdom is also here and now, in and among the people and times of the world. This World is God's self-revelation. We see him everywhere, and He is love. I think of the story of Francis preaching to birds and it doesn't seem so unusual. It says somewhere that we are to proclaim the Gospel to all creatures. I walk out to the garden in the company of the Quiet and my dogs are like bouncing balls, rattling and banging around the yard. Hmm, I think, perhaps a little preaching might be in order here... But I don't know what to say to them, only through my hands, my eyes, a moment of mutual wrestling. God loves us. God loves us, I say. He is here. Do you feel him? Perhaps they don't, but they calm down and move away, giving me some space, giving the Quiet some space to surround me--until the Awareness hits like a wall falling down and I am left gasping with desire. All I can say is "Yes, yes, yes!" That's how it is.
So I have given you a secret from my heart, something I have never told anyone before. The world we see around us, beautiful as it is and filled with love, is not the whole of it. There is more, and we are meant to find it, to hold it in our hearts and our hands. We are meant to "lay hands on it and eat, that we might live". This mystery is the spirit within Eucharist, the ongoing, all-encompassing sacrament of God's presence. "This is the bread that comes down from Heaven, that all people might take hold of it and eat, and live." It is a moment, it is a person, it is a way. It is Christ. He wants us to put our hands on him and know he is with us. That is why we feel the Quiet, his emmisary, who comes to tell us he is coming. The Awareness... well, that, I suppose, is the King himself, coming through the door. I throw myself down, heart and soul, in his presence, hoping he will lift me up. His hands, his arms, his eyes... everything!
The Quiet is like a person who visits without phoning, not a friend so much as a teacher, but not a teacher so much as a Watcher and a Guide. When the Quiet arrives I look for my shoes and coat. It is time to go somewhere. The Quiet is hard to describe.
There is another, like the Quiet, but even harder to talk about. The Awareness is a moment when everything pauses and nothing seems like itself. The sky, the land, the buildings are all painted pictures on scrim. The whole world is a theater set, an illusion behind which something greater moves. I step out of the moment to stand in the company of the Awareness, to stare at reality waiting for the curtain to go up. Waiting for something even greater than the Quiet to begin. I live surrounded by angels and guides. When they come near, life must pause, for they have the presence of the One I seek within themselves. That is what I am feeling. That is why all the world bows in recognition...
These feelings are brief, and when they leave I feel my real poverty... but I also feel my real wealth. For how can I cry out against the one Who comes when he chooses to withdraw? I am never abandoned, only poor, and my poverty is his poverty. He knows how it feels.
I love the world which is Heaven and its people. I feel like the luckiest wanderer who, coming over a mountain sees the Kingdom at last, spreading out before me. But the Franciscans teach that the Kingdom is also here and now, in and among the people and times of the world. This World is God's self-revelation. We see him everywhere, and He is love. I think of the story of Francis preaching to birds and it doesn't seem so unusual. It says somewhere that we are to proclaim the Gospel to all creatures. I walk out to the garden in the company of the Quiet and my dogs are like bouncing balls, rattling and banging around the yard. Hmm, I think, perhaps a little preaching might be in order here... But I don't know what to say to them, only through my hands, my eyes, a moment of mutual wrestling. God loves us. God loves us, I say. He is here. Do you feel him? Perhaps they don't, but they calm down and move away, giving me some space, giving the Quiet some space to surround me--until the Awareness hits like a wall falling down and I am left gasping with desire. All I can say is "Yes, yes, yes!" That's how it is.
So I have given you a secret from my heart, something I have never told anyone before. The world we see around us, beautiful as it is and filled with love, is not the whole of it. There is more, and we are meant to find it, to hold it in our hearts and our hands. We are meant to "lay hands on it and eat, that we might live". This mystery is the spirit within Eucharist, the ongoing, all-encompassing sacrament of God's presence. "This is the bread that comes down from Heaven, that all people might take hold of it and eat, and live." It is a moment, it is a person, it is a way. It is Christ. He wants us to put our hands on him and know he is with us. That is why we feel the Quiet, his emmisary, who comes to tell us he is coming. The Awareness... well, that, I suppose, is the King himself, coming through the door. I throw myself down, heart and soul, in his presence, hoping he will lift me up. His hands, his arms, his eyes... everything!
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Life in the Desert
Spiritually, we behave the same way, only reversed. The lives we make for ourselves are often barren places surrounded by the gardens of God. I'm not sure why we create these grim "realities" for ourselves, but I think it has something to do with the journey. Like children building playhouses in the backyard, we build ourselves imitation lives in an attempt to understand how life works. God wants us to understand, but I wonder if God doesn't sometimes pause on the porch in benevolant amazement before calling us in to supper.
To answer God's call we must abandon our illusions about life; our illusions of war, strife, anger, jealousy, bitterness and rivalry, competition, and perhaps most insidious, independence. We must abandon the dryness and wracking heat of our anger that withers everything we plant before it has a chance to bear fruit. All these illusions are not the truth; they are not in God's house, they are not God's way.
There is an interesting line in the Gospel that Jesus uses when the authorities of his day accused him of misleading the people. He said these teachers were like children singing a song. "We piped and you would not dance; we pretended to die and you would not weep." Jesus was accused for eating and drinking, for enjoying the company of friends--but he never sinned, even with the good things of life. His relationships with people were both tender and firm. His concern was always to lead us out of the desert into abundant lives of grace.
It takes a revolution of the heart. We call it "conversion". The word means "to go across or against". But it is deeper than mere rebellion. It suggests an intimate union with a new way of being, a new way of living that is totally changed, unfamiliar and new. It implies awakening from a dream, throwing off illusions about life and self and where we find meaning. It requires a radical abandonment of illusions of the desert in exchange for the fertile life of God. The tough part is, we are free to continue our game as long as we wish. It's our choice.
Why is conversion so hard? Jesus says it's like a man who plants a field with good grain only to have an enemy come at night to scatter the seed of weeds all over the freshly planted ground. You can't just tear the weeds out when they sprout because you will tear out the good grain as well. Tough gig. For the time of growing, they will grow together--seeds and weeds. When God comes to call us inside, he will send his workers to harvest the wheat, the fruit of our lives. As they do so they will separate out the weeds, everything useless that clung to us and interferred. The grain will be gathered into God's barns. The weeds will be burned. Our soujourn in the desert will be sorted out and cleansed. The question of concern for us is, will God find anything worth keeping?
We are not helpless or without hope. Be clear about that. The Garden that surrounds our lives is real. The Master Gardener lives right next door. We can go to God for advice, tips, tools and supplies. In spite of the weeds, we can learn to grow good crops, abundant harvests. The Bible is like a how-to manual for gardening in desert places and when the time is right, He will make the desert bloom! I've seen it happen. I've walked in the desert after a once-in-twenty-five year winter when it rains every few days for weeks at a time. I've walked on desert lands where in one summer there is nothing to see but burned, glaring rock and the next Spring there were so many wildflowers my feet never touched the ground! I was out with friends one rainy year and we walked for hundreds of yards three feet above the ground because the wildflowers and bushes were so thick. (Excuse me, snakes, but please don't pop out!)
This is how it is with God. His love is so complete, so powerful and so abundant that this illusion we call "life" won't even be recognizeable when he calls us to share his... and we don't have to wait. For a while, yes, we will struggle in a weedy patch we call "our" life. This is God's will and it serves God's purpose. But it isn't the whole of us nor the span of our existence. Even here, even now in the desert, we can experience the abundance of the Garden. This is why Lent is such a puzzle to us. How is it we can labor and sacrifice, and rejoice and exalt at the same time? How is it Lent can be so refreshing if it is a season for determined renewal?
The answers are out in my garden and in the desert that surrounds me. I go with my hoe to participate in the dance of life, which brings life to barren places. I go out farther with my hat and water bottle to walk on the desert and know that all around me the seeds are sleeping, sometimes for years, waiting for the rains to come, for the arrival of God's Spirit which breaks open and renews the earth. It is a wonderful job, just watching, seeing how He does it, knowing that out there, just across the fence, he's gardening too. And it's a wonderful garden indeed. Sometimes, when the wind is right, you can smell the flowers...
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Blog Bits
We are converting a spare room to make a small chapel. We've wanted to do this for many years but God wanted to celebrate "space" in our life by filling it with people, usually people who needed a place to sleep. This has diminshed and the room is empty. So we talk about what we will put into the space; how we will fill it. Today a friend of ours is bringing over a sewing machine on which his wife, recently deceased, used to sew. JoAnne used to sew and wants to take it up again. But first she wants to put the sewing machine in the chapel, with a candle and a picture or statue. A juxtaposition of faith and utility. To me it seems very Franciscan. When it arrives (and when I can find a camera) I will make a picture of it so you can see...
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Today is February 23. It is time for Spring to begin. Spring is late. Usually by the 16th we can all feel the change. It draws the heart out of the house to go walking, miles upon miles, through the blustery nights. But not this year. We are cold and wet and grey and very un-Arizona-like. And I'm complaining, like I have not right to do, since everywhere else in the country Winter is a real experience whereas ours is only make-believe...
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Do Franciscans get heartburn? I do. It wakes me up at night. I know the doctor has pills for this, but I'm tired of taking pills. I could make necklaces out of all the pills I take every day. Economically I could take steps to reduce the cost and complexity of this issue, but it means entering into a new partnership with my insurance company, which, strangely, I am reluctant to do. Anyone out there who works in the insurance industry may understand this problem. We are changing as a cultural economy and it doesn't happen easilly. Insurance is now part of our daily healthcare. There are always three people in the doctor's office, and we who have the sore throat or aching back no longer seem to play a major role. The Doctors must form relationship with the Insurers, and both of them must at least be on speaking terms with the Employers. People, these days, are mere baskets of physical complaints. They dump out the goods on a table, sort through them, argue about who gets what, and the bag gets tossed aside. If you don't believe me, try talking to your physician. If he doesn't flee the room at the sound of a voice coming from the examining table, you've found a rare relationship...
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Nurses, however, have souls. And perhaps because of their daily ministry, I sense souls growing among doctors and insurance companies. Employers, by my reckoning, remain unmoved.
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If you would like to forward this blog to others, please feel free. That's what it's here for. Like planting a seed, I hope it will grow and bear fruit.
Tom
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Today is February 23. It is time for Spring to begin. Spring is late. Usually by the 16th we can all feel the change. It draws the heart out of the house to go walking, miles upon miles, through the blustery nights. But not this year. We are cold and wet and grey and very un-Arizona-like. And I'm complaining, like I have not right to do, since everywhere else in the country Winter is a real experience whereas ours is only make-believe...
---
Do Franciscans get heartburn? I do. It wakes me up at night. I know the doctor has pills for this, but I'm tired of taking pills. I could make necklaces out of all the pills I take every day. Economically I could take steps to reduce the cost and complexity of this issue, but it means entering into a new partnership with my insurance company, which, strangely, I am reluctant to do. Anyone out there who works in the insurance industry may understand this problem. We are changing as a cultural economy and it doesn't happen easilly. Insurance is now part of our daily healthcare. There are always three people in the doctor's office, and we who have the sore throat or aching back no longer seem to play a major role. The Doctors must form relationship with the Insurers, and both of them must at least be on speaking terms with the Employers. People, these days, are mere baskets of physical complaints. They dump out the goods on a table, sort through them, argue about who gets what, and the bag gets tossed aside. If you don't believe me, try talking to your physician. If he doesn't flee the room at the sound of a voice coming from the examining table, you've found a rare relationship...
---
Nurses, however, have souls. And perhaps because of their daily ministry, I sense souls growing among doctors and insurance companies. Employers, by my reckoning, remain unmoved.
---
If you would like to forward this blog to others, please feel free. That's what it's here for. Like planting a seed, I hope it will grow and bear fruit.
Tom
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Pairs Skating
I know I wrote early this morning but so much can happen over a day. Today was our monthly meeting with the St. Francis fraternity of the Secular Franciscan Order (SFO). JoAnne and I blew our regular Sunday routine by sleeping in too late to make the early Mass at Our Lady of the Angels. Next choice was morning Mass at Saint Mary's, home of our Fraternity. Mass was beautiful. We got to hear dear friends sing and catch up on news after the liturgy. We picked a seat near an exit aisle, which meant no kneeler. I had to kneel on the hardwood floor and it reminded me of cloisters and abbey churches and simplicity and many things I love about Catholicism. The Basilica is so old in design that there are actual pillars blocking the view of the altar, from the side seats. I had a clear view of the statue of Mary, and she simply pointed toward Jesus, so my prayers were sweet and comforting. Such a grace...!
After Mass we wandered down to the basement meeting hall and joined our fraternity and other parishoners packing lunches for the homeless. Our journey asks us to participate in such works with our brothers and sisters that they might help us by example to learn the ways of Franciscan love and ministry. I just enjoy talking over the kitchen counter as we make hundreds of baloney sandwiches, or pack zip bags with chips. It isn't much, if you measure it, but there are people out there with nothing, not even a sandwich to eat.
After packing lunches JoAnne and I retire to the Chancery building next door to study and share with our cohort group. We are "first year candidates" which means we are learning to study, pray, share and form community with others who are on the same journey. Another group meets down the hall from us. They are "second year" candidates and will profess in October. A third group is meeting somewhere as well, though I don't seem to notice them. They are "inquirers" people who wonder what the Order is all about and what they might do to follow this path. JoAnne and I follow because everything else has faded in comparison. The world and all its promises...
After our lessons we return to the basement of Saint Mary's where the Fraternity has gathered to share a potluck lunch, to pray together and--guess what?--to learn some more! Today we review some pointers about praying the Hours (that's from the book of Christian Prayer), then review business that involves the Fraternity and hear other news. It's a long, lovely day, very different from our old life. But in the process my great joy and peace fades and I feel steadily weaker. It's been a problem today and I'm not sure I've been eating properly. I take medications for blood pressure and sometimes get out of balance. I look at an old church pew pushed up against a wall in the corner and long to lay myself down, just stretch out and let the odd feeling pass, but I don't want to alarm anyone. Slowly, slowly I emerge from that hole and feel I can stand up without fainting, though several time during my prayers I can't continue talking, or even hold my prayerbook up. Weakness is one of those trials James talks about. It doesn't feel like a privilege to me...
Finally we say goodbye to one another and all retire to our own homes and lives for another month. JoAnne says she's good for about two weeks and then she starts missing everyone so much that it hurts. Someone wise and experience told us, "When that happens, just pick up the phone and call. We aren't that far apart..." Which is interesting because we had a guest today, a visitor from Seattle, I think, who said her Fraternity spans four western states! I don't imagine they see each other every month...
Now, after nearly twenty-four hours I've come 'round the circle to just about where I began. Where have I gone in that time? How far have I walked with Jesus? What have I learned? How have I changed? I was confirmed in our study group today that it is right to share my thoughts and feelings this way. It helps me and it may help others. We all have a gift and writing is one of mine. I still worry about humility. But perhaps that's just pride in disguise. Thankfully, no one has seemed to take notice that I am journaling in such a public way. Well, JoAnne has. She experiences something of her own when she reads what I wrote, sometimes not even waiting 'till morning but getting out of bed in the middle of the night to see if there's anything new. And sometimes, listening to her laugh and talk at the meetings, I know God has given me a good partner in this journey, someone who sees things I don't notice, who hears God speaking when I'm not paying attention. I hope I can be a good partner for her too.
After Mass we wandered down to the basement meeting hall and joined our fraternity and other parishoners packing lunches for the homeless. Our journey asks us to participate in such works with our brothers and sisters that they might help us by example to learn the ways of Franciscan love and ministry. I just enjoy talking over the kitchen counter as we make hundreds of baloney sandwiches, or pack zip bags with chips. It isn't much, if you measure it, but there are people out there with nothing, not even a sandwich to eat.
After packing lunches JoAnne and I retire to the Chancery building next door to study and share with our cohort group. We are "first year candidates" which means we are learning to study, pray, share and form community with others who are on the same journey. Another group meets down the hall from us. They are "second year" candidates and will profess in October. A third group is meeting somewhere as well, though I don't seem to notice them. They are "inquirers" people who wonder what the Order is all about and what they might do to follow this path. JoAnne and I follow because everything else has faded in comparison. The world and all its promises...
After our lessons we return to the basement of Saint Mary's where the Fraternity has gathered to share a potluck lunch, to pray together and--guess what?--to learn some more! Today we review some pointers about praying the Hours (that's from the book of Christian Prayer), then review business that involves the Fraternity and hear other news. It's a long, lovely day, very different from our old life. But in the process my great joy and peace fades and I feel steadily weaker. It's been a problem today and I'm not sure I've been eating properly. I take medications for blood pressure and sometimes get out of balance. I look at an old church pew pushed up against a wall in the corner and long to lay myself down, just stretch out and let the odd feeling pass, but I don't want to alarm anyone. Slowly, slowly I emerge from that hole and feel I can stand up without fainting, though several time during my prayers I can't continue talking, or even hold my prayerbook up. Weakness is one of those trials James talks about. It doesn't feel like a privilege to me...
Finally we say goodbye to one another and all retire to our own homes and lives for another month. JoAnne says she's good for about two weeks and then she starts missing everyone so much that it hurts. Someone wise and experience told us, "When that happens, just pick up the phone and call. We aren't that far apart..." Which is interesting because we had a guest today, a visitor from Seattle, I think, who said her Fraternity spans four western states! I don't imagine they see each other every month...
Now, after nearly twenty-four hours I've come 'round the circle to just about where I began. Where have I gone in that time? How far have I walked with Jesus? What have I learned? How have I changed? I was confirmed in our study group today that it is right to share my thoughts and feelings this way. It helps me and it may help others. We all have a gift and writing is one of mine. I still worry about humility. But perhaps that's just pride in disguise. Thankfully, no one has seemed to take notice that I am journaling in such a public way. Well, JoAnne has. She experiences something of her own when she reads what I wrote, sometimes not even waiting 'till morning but getting out of bed in the middle of the night to see if there's anything new. And sometimes, listening to her laugh and talk at the meetings, I know God has given me a good partner in this journey, someone who sees things I don't notice, who hears God speaking when I'm not paying attention. I hope I can be a good partner for her too.
What's My Line?
The people who help us, our teachers and companions among the Franciscans, tell us to read and pray the Scriptures, that we might grow. Tonight, unable to sleep, I decided it was time to fight my worries with faith. I put out my hand and grabbed hold of the Bible on the nightstand and retreated to the family room.
At times like this I try to calm myself and simply open the book, not exactly at random, since I favor the Gospel stories. I like to read about Jesus when I'm worried and remember his love, his kindness... and maybe a little of his toughness. But tonight the Spirit told me to read from James.
As I recall (and I may be wrong) James was one of the apostles who stayed and worked in Jerusalem when the other apostles began to reach out to surrounding lands. Peter was driven from Jerusalem by angry people. Paul was already out and about on his great journeys. James had to take over things in the city and try to build bridges between Jewish and Christian communities. So he begins by trying to calm his own brethren by encouraging them. When trials come, he teaches, "try to treat them as a happy privilege." Faith is tested to make us patient, and patience leads to a complete, mature believer.
I've always felt patience is one of my most difficult challenges, especially when I'm forced to it. It's almost as hard as fasting. I read a few more paragraphs before I realized James is going to be a hard book to read and will probably be better spread out over the course of Lent. This might just be my Journey with James. So I closed the book and admitted to God how useless and weak I really feel.
I took a look at the Bible, not what's in the Bible but the book itself. It's rather big and hefty, hard to hold. It's old, been with us almost as long as we've been married. It says on the cover, "The McNamara Family". We bought it from King's House when we were newly married, around the time our son was born. It's been on the journey as long as we have. We wanted it in our lives when we were starting out. Now it's beat up. There are pages that fell out and got tucked back in. The spine is falling apart. The cover has stains and scratches and the gold printing is half worn off, in some places missing. It looks like it's been through a war.
And some days that's just how it feels. We struggle and try and study and pray... and things just fall apart around us. We don't want to hear about being patient; we want God to launch a rescue mission. I remember as I got out of bed thinking "If only God would send some help paying some of these bills..." But James, like Jesus, warns not to pin our happiness on wealth, because it doesn't give us life. Rather, happy are those who stand firm in their trials; they will win the prize of life, and "the crown that the Lord has promised to those who love him." James 1:12
Now, I must admit, I'm not looking for a crown. My prayers lately have been the prayers of a lover. Where are you? Why can't we be together? When can I see you again...? It's an agony we cling to. We don't want money or power or freedom or even safety. We only want the Beloved. The crown... I don't understand. If it's something he wants to give, I'll accept it--but that's not what I want. I only want to keep going, to keep following, to keep walking with him where he is walking. I only speak--I only blog--because I am so desperately in love with him. I am the poor one in rags in the street, so rich beyond imagining that the very rain pours down blessings on my bare head. The hard ground cradles my weary bones and gives me rest most delightful. It is insanity, and I pursue it, hunger and I crave it, poverty and I sell everything to possess it. It makes no sense, and I make myself a fool to be considered a fool. The whole world is overturned in him. "The person who has two minds, must not expect that the Lord will give him anything." Hard words and finally, finally I embrace them.
The Franciscans tell me that this journey takes time. There is no way around it. Over time we are worn down like a mountain worn away by rain. If I lose sleep over it, I don't care. If my future has no worldly guarantee, please take it. If those who knew me when my mind was lost no longer wish to know me because he fills my mind with light, I bless you, for people are my real treasure. Knowing you is knowing myself. I long for you as I long for my next breath.
And this, I feel, is where it's all going, this is the line he tells me to find--the first step in getting myself straightened out. To know my people, to know where I belong and what I am to do, I must embrace and understand the storms in my own heart. It is a struggle that comes with a guarantee, for he says in another place "those who seek will find."
"Love one another," Jesus teaches us. No matter what happens, keep on loving.
At times like this I try to calm myself and simply open the book, not exactly at random, since I favor the Gospel stories. I like to read about Jesus when I'm worried and remember his love, his kindness... and maybe a little of his toughness. But tonight the Spirit told me to read from James.
As I recall (and I may be wrong) James was one of the apostles who stayed and worked in Jerusalem when the other apostles began to reach out to surrounding lands. Peter was driven from Jerusalem by angry people. Paul was already out and about on his great journeys. James had to take over things in the city and try to build bridges between Jewish and Christian communities. So he begins by trying to calm his own brethren by encouraging them. When trials come, he teaches, "try to treat them as a happy privilege." Faith is tested to make us patient, and patience leads to a complete, mature believer.
I've always felt patience is one of my most difficult challenges, especially when I'm forced to it. It's almost as hard as fasting. I read a few more paragraphs before I realized James is going to be a hard book to read and will probably be better spread out over the course of Lent. This might just be my Journey with James. So I closed the book and admitted to God how useless and weak I really feel.
I took a look at the Bible, not what's in the Bible but the book itself. It's rather big and hefty, hard to hold. It's old, been with us almost as long as we've been married. It says on the cover, "The McNamara Family". We bought it from King's House when we were newly married, around the time our son was born. It's been on the journey as long as we have. We wanted it in our lives when we were starting out. Now it's beat up. There are pages that fell out and got tucked back in. The spine is falling apart. The cover has stains and scratches and the gold printing is half worn off, in some places missing. It looks like it's been through a war.
And some days that's just how it feels. We struggle and try and study and pray... and things just fall apart around us. We don't want to hear about being patient; we want God to launch a rescue mission. I remember as I got out of bed thinking "If only God would send some help paying some of these bills..." But James, like Jesus, warns not to pin our happiness on wealth, because it doesn't give us life. Rather, happy are those who stand firm in their trials; they will win the prize of life, and "the crown that the Lord has promised to those who love him." James 1:12
Now, I must admit, I'm not looking for a crown. My prayers lately have been the prayers of a lover. Where are you? Why can't we be together? When can I see you again...? It's an agony we cling to. We don't want money or power or freedom or even safety. We only want the Beloved. The crown... I don't understand. If it's something he wants to give, I'll accept it--but that's not what I want. I only want to keep going, to keep following, to keep walking with him where he is walking. I only speak--I only blog--because I am so desperately in love with him. I am the poor one in rags in the street, so rich beyond imagining that the very rain pours down blessings on my bare head. The hard ground cradles my weary bones and gives me rest most delightful. It is insanity, and I pursue it, hunger and I crave it, poverty and I sell everything to possess it. It makes no sense, and I make myself a fool to be considered a fool. The whole world is overturned in him. "The person who has two minds, must not expect that the Lord will give him anything." Hard words and finally, finally I embrace them.
The Franciscans tell me that this journey takes time. There is no way around it. Over time we are worn down like a mountain worn away by rain. If I lose sleep over it, I don't care. If my future has no worldly guarantee, please take it. If those who knew me when my mind was lost no longer wish to know me because he fills my mind with light, I bless you, for people are my real treasure. Knowing you is knowing myself. I long for you as I long for my next breath.
And this, I feel, is where it's all going, this is the line he tells me to find--the first step in getting myself straightened out. To know my people, to know where I belong and what I am to do, I must embrace and understand the storms in my own heart. It is a struggle that comes with a guarantee, for he says in another place "those who seek will find."
"Love one another," Jesus teaches us. No matter what happens, keep on loving.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Walking In Line
As Lent begins, it's traditional to think of a spiritual pursuit, usually directed toward self-improvement. Many people choose a discipline or sacrifice. Some think Lent is a sacrifice in its own right. I favor the self-improvement line of thinking and sometimes just learning to "be still and know that I am God" seems big enough. Still, I'd like to be able to put something down, in case anyone asks...
Reflecting on school and teaching. What is the most important thing I can teach my students? What do they really need in order to succeed? To what end to I put the most effort, my best talent? Well, if I had to choose I'd say the most important thing I teach kids is how to walk in a line.
The first thing you need to do is to find the line. I tell the kids "Find a line! Where are your feet?" They look around and find a line on the sidewalk or parking lot or playground and they put their feet on it. Step one accomplished! Everbody is standing in line.
The next thing I tell them is "Show me fish lips!" They pucker their lips and blow out their cheeks, and you know something? It's pretty hard to keep talking with your lips puckered to hold in all that air.
Next I tell them "Duck tails!" They put their hands behind their backs and wiggle their fingers like feathers. No more poking the kids around you. That's how we do it. We find a line, make fish lips and duck tails and now we are all straight and quiet and ready to go. Works like a charm.
In spiritual terms, finding a line means embracing our vocation, that work and lifestyle God calls us to. Every Christian has a vocation to live the Gospel. So, during Lent, it's fitting to reflect on our life in terms of the Word of God. Doesn't take much, just a little quiet time, a Bible, and consciousness. (I admit, sometimes that last one eludes me.)
Quiet. How important it is for us to shut up once in awhile and listen to what God is saying. Again, our Bible is a great help since it is, after all, God's word. When a man cried out from hell for God to intervene in the lives of his wayward brothers, God replied "They have Moses and the prophets. They can listen to them!"
"No, Lord! They are like me. They won't listen. But if you send someone from the dead to warn them, they will listen."
"Uh, uh," God said. "If they won't listen to Moses and the prophets, then even if someone should rise up from the dead, they will not listen to him..."
Jesus rose up from the dead. Our Christian line, the line we walk on, is his word. How does he speak in our lives? How do we listen? Is there enough quiet in our lives, or do we let the shouting world drown out his voice? Learn to make fish lips. Be quiet and listen.
Duck tails. Put your hands behind your back. What gets us in trouble more often than anything except our mouths? Our idle hands. We need to put them behind, to occupy them in worthy labor. Thus subdued, they are not tearing down what God builds in our souls. Several religious communities have based their rule on the two complementary ideals of simple prayer and honest work. When Mother Theresa wrote the rule for her Daughters of Charity, she borrowed from two traditions. She told her sisters to work like a Franciscan and pray like a Benedictine. Keep your hands busy and your mouth closed. Then walk in line.
That's the last step. Finding your line, closing your lips, opening your hands are all preparation for one thing: to walk in community. None of us can succeed in spiritual life on our own. We must have some sort of community. We must "go with" somebody else. Who shares your journey? All it takes is one person, for "wherever two or more are gathered in my name, I am there among them." That's an awesome promise. If anyone really wants to meet God, that's the way to do it. Find somebody, anybody, who also wants to know God and join together in his name. Make community. Then all the rest of your work, your sacrifices, your prayers, your devotion and faithfulness, will bear fruit.
Lent is a time for gardening, for planting the seeds of grace and tending them with simple tools. The rest is all God's work.
"We plow the fields and scatter good seed on the land. But it is fed and watered by God's almighty hand."
May God, who knows just how to tend a grapevine, bring you to bear fruit this Lent, and forever.
Reflecting on school and teaching. What is the most important thing I can teach my students? What do they really need in order to succeed? To what end to I put the most effort, my best talent? Well, if I had to choose I'd say the most important thing I teach kids is how to walk in a line.
The first thing you need to do is to find the line. I tell the kids "Find a line! Where are your feet?" They look around and find a line on the sidewalk or parking lot or playground and they put their feet on it. Step one accomplished! Everbody is standing in line.
The next thing I tell them is "Show me fish lips!" They pucker their lips and blow out their cheeks, and you know something? It's pretty hard to keep talking with your lips puckered to hold in all that air.
Next I tell them "Duck tails!" They put their hands behind their backs and wiggle their fingers like feathers. No more poking the kids around you. That's how we do it. We find a line, make fish lips and duck tails and now we are all straight and quiet and ready to go. Works like a charm.
In spiritual terms, finding a line means embracing our vocation, that work and lifestyle God calls us to. Every Christian has a vocation to live the Gospel. So, during Lent, it's fitting to reflect on our life in terms of the Word of God. Doesn't take much, just a little quiet time, a Bible, and consciousness. (I admit, sometimes that last one eludes me.)
Quiet. How important it is for us to shut up once in awhile and listen to what God is saying. Again, our Bible is a great help since it is, after all, God's word. When a man cried out from hell for God to intervene in the lives of his wayward brothers, God replied "They have Moses and the prophets. They can listen to them!"
"No, Lord! They are like me. They won't listen. But if you send someone from the dead to warn them, they will listen."
"Uh, uh," God said. "If they won't listen to Moses and the prophets, then even if someone should rise up from the dead, they will not listen to him..."
Jesus rose up from the dead. Our Christian line, the line we walk on, is his word. How does he speak in our lives? How do we listen? Is there enough quiet in our lives, or do we let the shouting world drown out his voice? Learn to make fish lips. Be quiet and listen.
Duck tails. Put your hands behind your back. What gets us in trouble more often than anything except our mouths? Our idle hands. We need to put them behind, to occupy them in worthy labor. Thus subdued, they are not tearing down what God builds in our souls. Several religious communities have based their rule on the two complementary ideals of simple prayer and honest work. When Mother Theresa wrote the rule for her Daughters of Charity, she borrowed from two traditions. She told her sisters to work like a Franciscan and pray like a Benedictine. Keep your hands busy and your mouth closed. Then walk in line.
That's the last step. Finding your line, closing your lips, opening your hands are all preparation for one thing: to walk in community. None of us can succeed in spiritual life on our own. We must have some sort of community. We must "go with" somebody else. Who shares your journey? All it takes is one person, for "wherever two or more are gathered in my name, I am there among them." That's an awesome promise. If anyone really wants to meet God, that's the way to do it. Find somebody, anybody, who also wants to know God and join together in his name. Make community. Then all the rest of your work, your sacrifices, your prayers, your devotion and faithfulness, will bear fruit.
Lent is a time for gardening, for planting the seeds of grace and tending them with simple tools. The rest is all God's work.
"We plow the fields and scatter good seed on the land. But it is fed and watered by God's almighty hand."
May God, who knows just how to tend a grapevine, bring you to bear fruit this Lent, and forever.
Lent
Today is Ash Wednesday, the first day in the season of Lent. This is a time when many Catholics turn inward to reflect on their lives with Christ, to examine their strengths and weaknesses, and to embrace the Gospel as their guide for living. It is a time of opportunity and growth, a time of rest and renewal. One basic idea for Lent is that life in the world can make a person weary, so go away with the Lord for awhile to a quiet place apart; give up the noise and distractions, listen for his voice and follow him.
That last part is the challenge, but with time and experience we begin to understand that he leads to the best places--but he follows his own values, not ours. So the journey is often a time of surprises. Francis had his Lent. He says "The Lord led me among lepers, and I showed them a heart full of mercy."
I think at least a little bit, Francis was surprised to find love in his heart because Lepers used to scare him. They were everything contagious, everything poor, everything that presented an indictment of his culture and his way of life. To find love in his heart meant a necessary abandonment of that life. He left everything behind, even his clothes. He put on the roughest cloth and went out barefoot into the world to embrace the poor. He became a beggar so that nothing of the world would occupy him, only the Gospel and its message of love. That was some Lent!
But in exchange he became a master at loving, more than an example, but a true path, a Christian path for people who feel the call in their hearts to love others as Jesus does. It's still a bright, happy, empowering way. And when I pray, it is the longing for Christ that strips me bare.
It is my gift, my treasure, the heart I wish to give to the world. May your journey to Easter be filled with joy and love. Happy Lent!
That last part is the challenge, but with time and experience we begin to understand that he leads to the best places--but he follows his own values, not ours. So the journey is often a time of surprises. Francis had his Lent. He says "The Lord led me among lepers, and I showed them a heart full of mercy."
I think at least a little bit, Francis was surprised to find love in his heart because Lepers used to scare him. They were everything contagious, everything poor, everything that presented an indictment of his culture and his way of life. To find love in his heart meant a necessary abandonment of that life. He left everything behind, even his clothes. He put on the roughest cloth and went out barefoot into the world to embrace the poor. He became a beggar so that nothing of the world would occupy him, only the Gospel and its message of love. That was some Lent!
But in exchange he became a master at loving, more than an example, but a true path, a Christian path for people who feel the call in their hearts to love others as Jesus does. It's still a bright, happy, empowering way. And when I pray, it is the longing for Christ that strips me bare.
It is my gift, my treasure, the heart I wish to give to the world. May your journey to Easter be filled with joy and love. Happy Lent!
Here in Arizona, this is also the season for planting the summer garden. "Summer" means any time between March and June. June is the end of the garden for everything but jalapenos so during Lent I dig and compost and weed and plant, water and tend and fuss and worry and do everything I can to keep the garden alive long enough to actually get something to eat.
A few days ago as I was taking in laundry from the clothesline I found a bug sunning itself on the leg of my blue jeans. I know this bug. It is "The Destroyer". It grows to about three quarters of an inch and moves through the garden like an army of tanks, destroying everything in its path. Zuchinni is its favorite. To find them now before I plant the very first seed is a bad omen indeed.
I find in gardening many metaphor for the spiritual life. To start out easy in the softest days of the year, to gain strength from physical labor, to grow along with the garden in order to be strong enough for the challenges to come--the spiritual life is not easy. Fruits come "by the sweat of our brow" until finally, harvestime! In Arizona we go opposite to the Bible. We go forth rejoicing, carrying the seed to be sown, and we come back weeping, with a couple of sorry squash after all that work. Do you think my garden offers me an opportunity for conversion?
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Night Prayers
It's late, sometime after midnight. Made a mistake today and didn't say my prayers. Seemed unimportant--a change in schedule, too many things on my list, pretty soon it's the middle of the morning, then the middle of the day, then the middle of the afternoon, then it's evening and I'm tired. It's easy to say "tomorrow" and collapse on the bed. God will understand, right?
Suddenly, I couldn't sleep. One thing or another. Back out of bed. Watching some t.v. alone in the family room. What's bothering tonight? Did I have coffee by mistake or something? Just before midnight I realize how I'm not liking television anymore, even things I've seen before, things that were familiar. Have I changed to where I can't tolerate the junk, the bad jokes, the gunfights, the sad, mistaken attitudes? Turn it off. Try again. Surely I'm tired... sleep must come now.
But it doesn't. In bed, under the blankets, I reach beneath my pillow to touch the holy card I slipped there a few nights ago. Something comforting about the picture of the Saint there, the prayer in the darkness, remembering my family not far away, but near. What did I miss? What remains undone...?
Out of bed again, taking my prayer book to the family room. I know what I need to do, even if I can barely keep my eyes open. I agreed to this when I asked to be allowed to stay with the Franciscans. It's part of the life. Second week of the Psalter, Evening Prayer One. I settle into the rocking chair in the pale lamplight and begin again, walking among the psalms, hearing the promise and the hope.
"Though I carry my life in my hands, I remember your law... I do not stray from your precepts. Your will is my heritage forever, the joy of my heart. I set myself to carry out your will in fullness, for ever." Psalm 119
That's the deal. We remain free. Our life is in our hands and God's law surrounds us. Over time we learn to rejoice and to do God's will. It's a journey. The Franciscans call it "The Rule". We pray every day, from the book of Christian Prayer. Skip praying and don't expect to be peaceful--in fact, don't expect to go back to the way you were. That door is shut. That ship has sailed. You're in God's country now, better learn how to do it. Carry your life in your hands. It's what he wants. Seek out his rules and his will, follow and do, then you will know joy.
"Enjoy" he says to me when I ask him what he wants me to do.
Enjoy. Bring joy into everything, every place, every moment, everywhere. It's a big job, but he's given us the tools...
Suddenly, I couldn't sleep. One thing or another. Back out of bed. Watching some t.v. alone in the family room. What's bothering tonight? Did I have coffee by mistake or something? Just before midnight I realize how I'm not liking television anymore, even things I've seen before, things that were familiar. Have I changed to where I can't tolerate the junk, the bad jokes, the gunfights, the sad, mistaken attitudes? Turn it off. Try again. Surely I'm tired... sleep must come now.
But it doesn't. In bed, under the blankets, I reach beneath my pillow to touch the holy card I slipped there a few nights ago. Something comforting about the picture of the Saint there, the prayer in the darkness, remembering my family not far away, but near. What did I miss? What remains undone...?
Out of bed again, taking my prayer book to the family room. I know what I need to do, even if I can barely keep my eyes open. I agreed to this when I asked to be allowed to stay with the Franciscans. It's part of the life. Second week of the Psalter, Evening Prayer One. I settle into the rocking chair in the pale lamplight and begin again, walking among the psalms, hearing the promise and the hope.
"Though I carry my life in my hands, I remember your law... I do not stray from your precepts. Your will is my heritage forever, the joy of my heart. I set myself to carry out your will in fullness, for ever." Psalm 119
That's the deal. We remain free. Our life is in our hands and God's law surrounds us. Over time we learn to rejoice and to do God's will. It's a journey. The Franciscans call it "The Rule". We pray every day, from the book of Christian Prayer. Skip praying and don't expect to be peaceful--in fact, don't expect to go back to the way you were. That door is shut. That ship has sailed. You're in God's country now, better learn how to do it. Carry your life in your hands. It's what he wants. Seek out his rules and his will, follow and do, then you will know joy.
"Enjoy" he says to me when I ask him what he wants me to do.
Enjoy. Bring joy into everything, every place, every moment, everywhere. It's a big job, but he's given us the tools...
Friday, February 12, 2010
Anything is possible
Every morning and every evening we pray the Liturgy of the Hours, or at least the morning and evening prayers. We have a small corner of our bedroom, with two chairs where we sit. We are working to take a spare bedroom and make a chapel for ourselves, but for now, this is enough.
Sitting in my chair I notice how I fold myself into my prayers physically, with my fingers twined beneath my chin, my prayerbook balanced on one knee. This posture feels right to me; it feels like praying and I favor it because the feeling of praying is as important to me as the act--I'm not sure how it suits God. But as I sit and the rhythm and meter of our prayers wash over us, it seems my whole life takes on a different pace. This in itself is worth the effort, for the peace of praying is precious and healing.
All that being said, the act of praying is only the surface. When the grace is with me, the prayers open and widen into a world of such vast dimensions as to make my whole spiritual life and all my experience seem but the first day in a new world. Moving into the territory of prayer there seems to be a necessary, almost automatic evaluation or scrutiny of the condition of my soul. We called it "examination of conscience" in high school, but back then it was only an exercise, and one I never understood. Now it is real, as real as the grace of prayer itself; it is the grace of understanding my weakness and imperfection, probably an affect of standing near to God. In the light of his love, we will see our poverty...
And in all this there is a great desire, almost a passion, to somehow share what I feel with you. I feel the truth of God, in depths and distances that preclude explaining. I cannot explain, only tell. And if it is true that God has wanted for a very long time that I should speak about him, then the agony I feel is grace too, if it gets me past my fear of being proud, or seeking glory and attention for myself. If humility is required for the journey, I've got a problem. But please be certain, I write because I pray and the prayer burns within me with the fire of heaven. This fire is for all that we might find warmth in Christ.
The prayers of the Hours focus on psalms and the letters of Paul. The Psalms are a tough blend of glory and poverty, the greatness of God and the weakness of humanity. It's an unfamiliar juxtaposition in a world that tends to overemphasize mankind's achievements and not even notice our dependency on God. Perhaps that's why I feel like a bowl of bread dough when I pray, pushed, pulled and pummeled into something nourishing for others. Almost every time we pray, something from the scriptures strikes me and I long to sit awhile and listen. But we are still caught up in the rushing world. Tonight, in his letter to the Romans, Paul himself seems to be praying. He says that everything was written "that we might derive hope from the lessons of patience and the words of encouragement."
And we do derive hope. For patience and encouragement come from God with the purpose of making us one in the spirit of Jesus. Thus united, we are to glorify God. That's what lies ahead in the world that opens to us through prayer. I don't know how it's possible that I am to glorify God. But when I join my hands and close my eyes in prayer, I can feel that anything is possible...
Sitting in my chair I notice how I fold myself into my prayers physically, with my fingers twined beneath my chin, my prayerbook balanced on one knee. This posture feels right to me; it feels like praying and I favor it because the feeling of praying is as important to me as the act--I'm not sure how it suits God. But as I sit and the rhythm and meter of our prayers wash over us, it seems my whole life takes on a different pace. This in itself is worth the effort, for the peace of praying is precious and healing.
All that being said, the act of praying is only the surface. When the grace is with me, the prayers open and widen into a world of such vast dimensions as to make my whole spiritual life and all my experience seem but the first day in a new world. Moving into the territory of prayer there seems to be a necessary, almost automatic evaluation or scrutiny of the condition of my soul. We called it "examination of conscience" in high school, but back then it was only an exercise, and one I never understood. Now it is real, as real as the grace of prayer itself; it is the grace of understanding my weakness and imperfection, probably an affect of standing near to God. In the light of his love, we will see our poverty...
And in all this there is a great desire, almost a passion, to somehow share what I feel with you. I feel the truth of God, in depths and distances that preclude explaining. I cannot explain, only tell. And if it is true that God has wanted for a very long time that I should speak about him, then the agony I feel is grace too, if it gets me past my fear of being proud, or seeking glory and attention for myself. If humility is required for the journey, I've got a problem. But please be certain, I write because I pray and the prayer burns within me with the fire of heaven. This fire is for all that we might find warmth in Christ.
The prayers of the Hours focus on psalms and the letters of Paul. The Psalms are a tough blend of glory and poverty, the greatness of God and the weakness of humanity. It's an unfamiliar juxtaposition in a world that tends to overemphasize mankind's achievements and not even notice our dependency on God. Perhaps that's why I feel like a bowl of bread dough when I pray, pushed, pulled and pummeled into something nourishing for others. Almost every time we pray, something from the scriptures strikes me and I long to sit awhile and listen. But we are still caught up in the rushing world. Tonight, in his letter to the Romans, Paul himself seems to be praying. He says that everything was written "that we might derive hope from the lessons of patience and the words of encouragement."
And we do derive hope. For patience and encouragement come from God with the purpose of making us one in the spirit of Jesus. Thus united, we are to glorify God. That's what lies ahead in the world that opens to us through prayer. I don't know how it's possible that I am to glorify God. But when I join my hands and close my eyes in prayer, I can feel that anything is possible...
Standing in Prayer
We have a small altar in our family room. Well, actually it's a t.v. cabinet. On the top we keep a statue of our Blessed Mother and a few other things, a candle, some pictures, artwork our kids made when they were younger. But it's just the right height that I can stand there with my elbows on the top shelf, hands folded under my chin, and pray. It's a comfortable place where I can slip into prayer quietly and quickly, and it's where I pray when I'm alone.
I like when the house is quiet. If I slept well, then prayer is just about the first thing I do. I like to thank God and remember he's there, that he has a purpose for me and that no matter how nervous I get, he's bigger than my fears. I don't like to dwell on them. It's important to put them in his hands and get going, so it's appropriate for the early morning--I remember that life isn't perfect, and I set off willing to try to make it more so...
Loving God is having a relationship. Everything is included, every human experience. He knows it all and when we bring ours to him in prayer, he helps us sort out what's worth keeping.
Today at work we are going to celebrate Valentine's Day with the kids. Teacher wants to keep it simple and calm, just cruise through the day and help the kids stay happy. She complemented my work yesterday, which is like hearing from God because compliments at school can seem like miracles. JoAnne's physical therapist gave me a tip this week. She told me to teach the kids how to make "fish lips and duck tails". That means "close your mouths and put your hands behind your backs" only it says it in a way the kids want to imitate and it works like a charm. Our lines are straight and quiet now, a big improvement.
Did I tell you that I teach? I'm certified in Arizona but I work as an assistant in special education. Lots of stories there... I get half the pay but none of the teacher's stress, though these days things are stressful for everybody. I'm glad I've got God to turn to, and the little standing altar where I can stop and pray for strength, for wisdom and for peace. Love needs a strong, sturdy seat to sit on. Three legs are the minimum to keep it steady.
Still learning about blogging. I'm trying different typefaces and things like auto-signatures. I want it to look nice when I publish. Sorry about the spelling errors. I haven't found the spell check yet.
I also want to make the blogs brief and pithy, easy to read, but hey, I guess we can't have everything up front... I keep thinking of more things to say.
Tom
I like when the house is quiet. If I slept well, then prayer is just about the first thing I do. I like to thank God and remember he's there, that he has a purpose for me and that no matter how nervous I get, he's bigger than my fears. I don't like to dwell on them. It's important to put them in his hands and get going, so it's appropriate for the early morning--I remember that life isn't perfect, and I set off willing to try to make it more so...
Loving God is having a relationship. Everything is included, every human experience. He knows it all and when we bring ours to him in prayer, he helps us sort out what's worth keeping.
Today at work we are going to celebrate Valentine's Day with the kids. Teacher wants to keep it simple and calm, just cruise through the day and help the kids stay happy. She complemented my work yesterday, which is like hearing from God because compliments at school can seem like miracles. JoAnne's physical therapist gave me a tip this week. She told me to teach the kids how to make "fish lips and duck tails". That means "close your mouths and put your hands behind your backs" only it says it in a way the kids want to imitate and it works like a charm. Our lines are straight and quiet now, a big improvement.
Did I tell you that I teach? I'm certified in Arizona but I work as an assistant in special education. Lots of stories there... I get half the pay but none of the teacher's stress, though these days things are stressful for everybody. I'm glad I've got God to turn to, and the little standing altar where I can stop and pray for strength, for wisdom and for peace. Love needs a strong, sturdy seat to sit on. Three legs are the minimum to keep it steady.
Still learning about blogging. I'm trying different typefaces and things like auto-signatures. I want it to look nice when I publish. Sorry about the spelling errors. I haven't found the spell check yet.
I also want to make the blogs brief and pithy, easy to read, but hey, I guess we can't have everything up front... I keep thinking of more things to say.
Tom
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
A Franciscan Journey
Brother Damian, OSB asked to hear about my journey as a candidate for the Secular Franciscan Order (SFO). We've been encouraged in our formation to talk about it and I've been wanting to keep a journal since it is, to me, immediate, and to others I think it might also be formative. I'm not familiar with blogging, but I get a sense that the better blogs are written with purpose and this journey lends itself to reflection and journaling.
Since I'm beginning to write it down somewhere in the middle, I think you might need some background to understand what I'm experiencing. But following the trail back is like digging up the roots of an old grapevine and I'm not sure I can do that without killing it. I'll rely on your experience being something similar to mine. It's interesting that the Franciscans teach conversion as a work in progress and recommend writing and reflection as a way to track and adjust one's progress. Maybe that's the best way to approach it. I'll try to blog as I journal. You'll see what I see and that will be my gift. Feel free to comment. I'm about ready to hear. I promise to read whatever comes, to respond if I can, and to take Francis' attitude of love and tolerance, though I may need a lot of practice. Perfect people don't need this journey. I crave it.
8:47 021010
I lived in a seminary from 1968 to 1972. Our life was heavily programmed. We woke up at six a.m. and followed a daily schedule of prayer, liturgy, study, work, community and growth. It was not an ordinary adolescence. I entered the seminary at age 14 and left at age 18 feeling compelled to follow the Spirit of God out into the world, for reasons I couldn't discern. In the subsequent thirty-eight years I have been married, raised my family, had several careers (I currently work in public education) and pursued many interests. It's been a rather normal life, except for the spiritual journey. Let's just say that under the surface I've been intensely searching for God, not because he hides himself, but because rather he is so clearly near. One cannot stand close to God and ignore him at the same time.
About eighteen months ago my wife, JoAnne, asked if I would like to go with her to a meeting of the Secular Franciscan Order. I agreed and we began a period of inquiry, at the end of which we asked to be accepted as candidates for full membership. The fraternity at Saint Mary's parish in Phoenix allowed us to join and we began a two-year period of formation. We're about six months into that period. At the end of the two years we will petition to be accepted as full members and if they agree we will begin a vowed Franciscan lifestyle in association with the Secular order. At first I was rather blase' about the whole deal, just another Catholic group, another spirituality program for adults, all familiar to me. But it didn't take long to realize this is very different.
The Franciscans are an order dating from the beginning of the twelfth century. Saint Francis decided to change his life in order to live according to the teachings of the Gospels. He did it full-force and without reservation, holding nothing back, nothing for himself, imitating Christ as a poor preacher who had to beg for food. In his era he was counter-cultural and appealing to many of his contemporary men, who flocked to follow him. The order grew quickly to number thousands of men, and women such as Claire of Assisi devoted their lives to a parallel lifestyle. With the establishment of both a male and a female order of vowed religious, there was also the growth of a secular group of men and women, many of them married with families, who found in the example of Francis and Claire, an approach to God that was meaningful and effective. Francis recognized the Seculars as sincere, and so wrote a Rule for them to follow before he even had one for his own religious brothers. This Rule has been passed down and revised over the centuries so that it would have meaning and value in our modern times. The Rule is meant to guide our spiritual development and help us to grow in faith and in effective action. I can't explain the spiritual power it has to draw my heart and soul, but I confess it does both.
Though I will write mainly from my own perspective, JoAnne and I are sharing this journey in deep and intimate ways. Foremost of all, we are prayer partners, trying our best to join together every morning and evening to pray from the book called The Roman-Franciscan Book of Prayers, an adaptation of the Divine Office. It is heavy in the Psalms (which I am growing to love) and other scriptures, It is familiar to me in the sense that it restores the daily prayers I loved when I was in the seminary. It restores the daily life of prayer which culminated in the Liturgy, our Holy Mass. It is this blend of scripture, prayer and living that helps us recognize in the ordinary events of our daily life, the devoted presence of God. We understand now that we are not alone.
To grow in faith with one's spouse is a tremendous grace. It means that we work out our salvation in a loving community that reflects from moment to moment the love of God. We only need to turn to one another to be reminded that God is leading us, and that he loves us without reservation. That really helps when we doubt our worth. It also means that we have someone close at hand who knows us better than any other living person, who can watch our progress and comment, with love, on our possible mistakes, weaknesses and illusions. Marriage has always been a journey of trust for us, so now we are making advantage of that resource like never before. It's like my brother once counseled me: "If you ever find yourself wondering if something you are about to do constitutes infidelity, I suggest you go ask your wife!" We are each others' confessor and spiritual guide, unofficially of course.
But I think that's what marriage should be; a small church; a community that gives and receives life, where each member is equal to every other member, where the good of the whole is the good of the individual. Where freedom is not established through independence, but through interdependence. It is the power of community come alive, and it is a suitable sanctuary for the love of Christ.
By the way, Brother Damian is also my high-school classmate. We were there together when, as teenagers, we learned to pray, work and worship God. For the last three and a half decades he has lived within the community of Benedictine brothers at Shawnee, Oklahoma, on a beautiful college campus not far from the site of the first, original McDonald's hamburger restaurant. He is currently completing his doctorate at Saint Gregory's college where he sometimes teaches, among other duties. I enjoy his success as much as I enjoy dropping his name. I have cool friends and will introduce them to you as they appear in my reflections...
Pax y Bien
T. R. McNamara.
Since I'm beginning to write it down somewhere in the middle, I think you might need some background to understand what I'm experiencing. But following the trail back is like digging up the roots of an old grapevine and I'm not sure I can do that without killing it. I'll rely on your experience being something similar to mine. It's interesting that the Franciscans teach conversion as a work in progress and recommend writing and reflection as a way to track and adjust one's progress. Maybe that's the best way to approach it. I'll try to blog as I journal. You'll see what I see and that will be my gift. Feel free to comment. I'm about ready to hear. I promise to read whatever comes, to respond if I can, and to take Francis' attitude of love and tolerance, though I may need a lot of practice. Perfect people don't need this journey. I crave it.
8:47 021010
I lived in a seminary from 1968 to 1972. Our life was heavily programmed. We woke up at six a.m. and followed a daily schedule of prayer, liturgy, study, work, community and growth. It was not an ordinary adolescence. I entered the seminary at age 14 and left at age 18 feeling compelled to follow the Spirit of God out into the world, for reasons I couldn't discern. In the subsequent thirty-eight years I have been married, raised my family, had several careers (I currently work in public education) and pursued many interests. It's been a rather normal life, except for the spiritual journey. Let's just say that under the surface I've been intensely searching for God, not because he hides himself, but because rather he is so clearly near. One cannot stand close to God and ignore him at the same time.
About eighteen months ago my wife, JoAnne, asked if I would like to go with her to a meeting of the Secular Franciscan Order. I agreed and we began a period of inquiry, at the end of which we asked to be accepted as candidates for full membership. The fraternity at Saint Mary's parish in Phoenix allowed us to join and we began a two-year period of formation. We're about six months into that period. At the end of the two years we will petition to be accepted as full members and if they agree we will begin a vowed Franciscan lifestyle in association with the Secular order. At first I was rather blase' about the whole deal, just another Catholic group, another spirituality program for adults, all familiar to me. But it didn't take long to realize this is very different.
The Franciscans are an order dating from the beginning of the twelfth century. Saint Francis decided to change his life in order to live according to the teachings of the Gospels. He did it full-force and without reservation, holding nothing back, nothing for himself, imitating Christ as a poor preacher who had to beg for food. In his era he was counter-cultural and appealing to many of his contemporary men, who flocked to follow him. The order grew quickly to number thousands of men, and women such as Claire of Assisi devoted their lives to a parallel lifestyle. With the establishment of both a male and a female order of vowed religious, there was also the growth of a secular group of men and women, many of them married with families, who found in the example of Francis and Claire, an approach to God that was meaningful and effective. Francis recognized the Seculars as sincere, and so wrote a Rule for them to follow before he even had one for his own religious brothers. This Rule has been passed down and revised over the centuries so that it would have meaning and value in our modern times. The Rule is meant to guide our spiritual development and help us to grow in faith and in effective action. I can't explain the spiritual power it has to draw my heart and soul, but I confess it does both.
Though I will write mainly from my own perspective, JoAnne and I are sharing this journey in deep and intimate ways. Foremost of all, we are prayer partners, trying our best to join together every morning and evening to pray from the book called The Roman-Franciscan Book of Prayers, an adaptation of the Divine Office. It is heavy in the Psalms (which I am growing to love) and other scriptures, It is familiar to me in the sense that it restores the daily prayers I loved when I was in the seminary. It restores the daily life of prayer which culminated in the Liturgy, our Holy Mass. It is this blend of scripture, prayer and living that helps us recognize in the ordinary events of our daily life, the devoted presence of God. We understand now that we are not alone.
To grow in faith with one's spouse is a tremendous grace. It means that we work out our salvation in a loving community that reflects from moment to moment the love of God. We only need to turn to one another to be reminded that God is leading us, and that he loves us without reservation. That really helps when we doubt our worth. It also means that we have someone close at hand who knows us better than any other living person, who can watch our progress and comment, with love, on our possible mistakes, weaknesses and illusions. Marriage has always been a journey of trust for us, so now we are making advantage of that resource like never before. It's like my brother once counseled me: "If you ever find yourself wondering if something you are about to do constitutes infidelity, I suggest you go ask your wife!" We are each others' confessor and spiritual guide, unofficially of course.
But I think that's what marriage should be; a small church; a community that gives and receives life, where each member is equal to every other member, where the good of the whole is the good of the individual. Where freedom is not established through independence, but through interdependence. It is the power of community come alive, and it is a suitable sanctuary for the love of Christ.
By the way, Brother Damian is also my high-school classmate. We were there together when, as teenagers, we learned to pray, work and worship God. For the last three and a half decades he has lived within the community of Benedictine brothers at Shawnee, Oklahoma, on a beautiful college campus not far from the site of the first, original McDonald's hamburger restaurant. He is currently completing his doctorate at Saint Gregory's college where he sometimes teaches, among other duties. I enjoy his success as much as I enjoy dropping his name. I have cool friends and will introduce them to you as they appear in my reflections...
Pax y Bien
T. R. McNamara.
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