Apple Pies and Sledgehammers

   JoAnne and I have been discussing the difference between contemplation and centering prayer. I know... I don't get it either.
   Centering prayer seems to be a sort of mental-shift from our ordinary way of operating, like, turning off all the appliances in the house in order to sit in a chair and listen to the sound of your own heartbeat. Being quiet on purpose because in that quiet one can hear God speak in a different way.
   People who do centering prayer tell me it's quite wonderful. But I suspect people like myself, who are accustomed to the noise, find it difficult.
   Contemplation, on the other hand, must be very different from prayer. While I hear people talk about "contemplative prayer" I'm thinking it is prayer only in the broadest terms. Contemplation is to prayer what forest is to trees. So maybe the reason we can't get excited about centering is that we don't want to concentrate on a single tree, and miss the forest.
   The reason I bring this all up is that we are going on a contemplative retreat in October. If it's all about centering prayer, we're in trouble.

   While I'm writing this, my cat insists on invading. I won't let her up on my lap while I write--she's too critical. She tries to drop in from the top of my monitor and gets diverted back to the floor. So she jumps onto the narrow ledge between the monitor and the keyboard, standing directly in my way. I send her on again. Not to be deterred, she is back for another try, laying in that same two inches of open space so that she isn't blocking my view. But she's also impossible to ignore.
   And I find myself wishing the Holy Spirit would be like that, getting in my way with such perfect insistence that I cannot ignore it. But I seem to be blind. Blind and numb and deaf and completely insensate. I know with my brain that God is with me and will never leave. And it's a wonderful understanding, with plenty of room to grow. But to have God in my lap, so to speak, and to give God time and attention--those are the purposes of prayer. God doesn't come merely for me to talk to. Someday there must be an experience of talking with. But there seems to be a wall between us. And it hurts.

   People talk to me about prayer and contemplation like the aroma of apple pies on the breeze. I need prayer like a hammer, a big sledge hammer that can break a hole in the wall, break the wall to bits so small it can never go up again. God help me, I want to smash that wall so that it can never come between us ever again, and not only that, when the wall comes down I intend to run--I will run through the widening gap, even as the bricks are coming down, and when I find God on the other side, I will tackle him.
   Someone told me once to form a goal before going on retreat, to make effective use of the time alone with God. Well, God, there it is. Let's knock down the wall. When I come through, please be there to catch me...


Note: I think I mentioned that JoAnne and I are supposed to be journaling, for our Franciscan journey. JoAnne, and others like her, tell me how hard it is for them to write. Not everyone loves to do it. Our Guides, thankfully, aren't making a big deal out of it, knowing that not everyone finds a path there. But as I write I begin to understand that one of the gifts of writing--one of the jobs writers do, perhaps--is that my words can stand and serve for others' need to express the deep things. I can, in a sense, speak for the world.
   It isn't so proud as it sounds. There is a line in the Gospel about "a voice crying in the desert, 'Prepare in the wilderness a straight path for the Lord'..." It's like going out every day and clearing brush so that people can walk more easily. In our hearts, we all want to break through to God. Some people pray, some people serve. I write. And since I've been trying so hard to reach God, and since God seems to encourage my efforts, I'm willing to try harder for JoAnne and you and for anyone else who finds the word-path difficult. I believe everyone should search for and find the path that is theirs. I'm willing to do this one.
   I've been trying to find more time for prayer. I want to do more of the Hours. I've thought about trying centering prayer. Just this morning I was walking back and forth between the chapel and the family room, saying "I have only enough time for one. Which will it be? Prayer or writing?"
   As you can see, writing won the morning. But did praying lose? My understanding of contemplation is "doing that thing in which Christ meets you." What better place than the center of your own heart where you are most real, where you are the person God made you to be?
   For the essence of all prayer is God. We pray because God prays first. We live because God lives first. And we seek, because God has sought us first, from the beginning, and will never stop. God seeks us for ever...

   I have to stop now. Uh... the cat wants me. But I will come again tomorrow. Have a safe and happy journey out there in the wilderness of life. If you come to any walls, knock. If necessary, use a big hammer.

Saturday Morning, 3 a.m.

     It's the quiet time. In the old days it was a formal time of prayer when the brothers or sisters would gather to celebrate the Word of God. Everything begins with the Word. It is the Eternal God, our source.
   If I had to pick something to show you what it's like to become Franciscan, I'd begin with prayer. Our daily prayer, morning and evening, is mostly Scripture. We pray the Psalms, which are Old Testament, and then we pray from the Letters of the Church, which are New Testament. And in between we pray many blessings that all come from the Word somewhere, and intercessions that speak what's in our heart. So in our prayers we are reading and remembering the Bible, and you just can't do that every day without being changed. That probably explains why it is given to us to do.
   I suppose it's only natural to get curious about what you do every day, and that good curiosity leads us quite gently into new understandings, all normal enough. What I see happening though are changes to our hearts, both of us, even as we keep our different personalities, and search from our different perspectives, and understand according to our different needs. But our praying has softened us toward each other--the precious, hidden places that we protect from everyone are not quite hidden anymore. It's nice to have someone on the journey, to share your journey.
   We went to a concert by John Michael Talbot on Thursday evening and it was a wonderful mix of song, prayer and testimony. John Michael and his music have been part of our lives almost as long as we've been married. I first heard him sing when I was seventeen, in Tucson, so to rediscover him as a Christian songwriter and musician was wonderful. But better than anything else is his testimony to the Word of God. When one goes every day, morning and evening, to draw from that well, one appreciates any free gift from another of its sweet water...
   Which leads me to what's happening. As we pray the daily prayer, my curiosity and desire for God grow. The Prayer used to be in eight parts or "hours", which simply means "divisions" throughout the day. The Hours have been changed and combined to form seven periods. Two of these--morning and evening prayer--are called "Major Hours". These are the prayers JoAnne and I are asked to pray daily, though now it's like asking us to receive a treasure, twice a day. The other five periods are called the "minor hours" and the "Office of Readings". They have other names which escape me at the moment. But properly arranged it means that a person who prays all the Hours is praying all the day, with breaks between for working, eating, living. And lately I've been craving them all.
   But blessed be our Practical God, who gently lays his hand on my shoulder and says, "Get up and go to work, Boy!" Not all prayer is from a book, or formally written, or set out in Seasons and Rites. God's plan is for all our life to be a prayer, ceaseless and unending, like a garment woven in a single piece, without seams. To learn to pray like that is quite a journey. Saint Clare says it happens a little bit at a time. But I can witness to you now that it does happen. If you are a fan of the Advent season, if Christmas to you is a time for more than parties and presents, if the darkening days of November seem lit by the glow of an approaching joy, then maybe you know something of what I'm talking about. There comes a point, walking in prayer, where you realize there is light around you. That's the Advent hope; that's the attraction of daily prayer.
   And it's no understatement to say that when it happens to you, you could be content for the rest of your life with nothing more.

   I suppose that's why God gave us curiosity.

Let No One Walk Alone

     We've been reading about a lot of saints. The stories of Franciscans alone astonish me. It's not like I've been hiding in a cave. I was raised on stories of the saints, but... wow! I mean, where do they find these people?
     Then I start looking at myself, of course, and it's pretty clear that I'm not exactly saint material; I mean, I have some awefully ordinary struggles: holding my temper, being patient with school kids, trying to keep Arizona politics in some sort of perspective... The Book says Franciscans treat people gently, listen to all sides, look for the common ground. Then I go out in traffic and look for a short stop light just so I can cross late and, like, dare somebody to honk.
     But I want Jesus. I mean, I want him so bad I can hardly breathe. I have to pull my thoughts away to something else, fixing the lawn mower, struggling over the bank balance, figuring out my next move. And I tell you, at fifty-six years old I'm pretty tired of having to start over every morning just figuring this world out. I want it to change, for me, to be what they promise in the stories: the kingdom of justice, peace and joy. The land and the time ruled by love. I mean, I want it so bad I could just crack heads to speed it up.
     There was a teacher I worked with, Mrs. B. She was Kindergarten, lifetime, full career and then some. She was pretty nice, though I suppose I didn't pay much attention to her, you know? She was pretty old. One afternoon I was leaving school and I saw a bunch of kids crowded around a house across the street. There was a fire truck and police cars and I figured they were probably getting in somebody's way, so I walked over there to shoe them away.
     "What's going on?" I asked a kid.
     "They shot somebody."
     "Who, the cops?"
     "Nah. It was gang-bangers."

     At three a.m. teenagers came to that house and knocked on the door. The man who lived there opened the door and they shot him. It was an initiation. They stepped over his body and robbed his house. Quite a story.
     I ran back into the school and began telling everyone I met what had happened right across the street! I got good reactions. One teacher told me she was afraid to come to work anymore. So I kept telling people. Then I saw Mrs. B. coming down the corridor.
     "Did you hear what happened?" I asked. She hadn't, so I told her the whole gruesome story. She looked me straight in the eye.
     "That is why," she said, "I pray every day, 'Come Lord Jesus! Set this world straight!"

     Did I already tell this story? It feels like I did. But I'll never forget how she walked away leaving me rooted to the spot, convicted. I like to say that after a lifetime of practicing my faith, that was the moment I began my conversion. And though I'm complaining right now, I see an unbroken path from that moment to this one. I am as profoundly convicted here on this journey to becoming a follower of Saint Francis as anywhere along the way. And I'm equally dumbfounded to get a glimpse of how dumb I can be. Especially about God.
     What on earth can I ever offer to this community? It's small wonder that there are so many Franciscan saints. And "sainthood" isn't even the goal! It's about living the life, and people like Mrs. B. are examples of what happens when you do. Nothing makes sense the way it did. The world is not for us; it's the place, but not the destination. What we go after we become, with God's help. Saint Clare says it's a process that happens gradually over time, not all at once...
     Impatient men like me need that hope; that over time we can become like them, the real disciples who live it, not just talk about it. That's what's burning inside of me tonight on a hot Saturday after a summer I'm just about fed up with. I would chuck it all and run away, except that He is here, now, anchored to this spot.
     I'm not going anywhere without him.




 

Human Suffering

     In yesterday's paper... stories about children caught in a nation at war. The horrors of human nature enslaved by evil. They call out for America to help. There is always a cry for help, and it is to our Nation that the cry goes out.
     I work in special education and I meet many children who are changed in extraordinary ways. They don't choose the lives they are given, and they need help to manage their challenges and build success. It is essential for their teachers to believe without doubt that they can succeed, but we must also accept that success can look very different from what we imagine for ourselves. It's no wonder, then, that I meet many teachers who beleive in God. In order to imagine success in the world we must have bigger options.
     Among our population of school children in Arizona there are many refugees. Not everyone wants them here. They make life more difficult and right now when money is short, there are people who would cut expenses by cutting services to human need. This is a mistake. From its beginning, America has always been the Nation to which refugees flee the evils of war, oppression, slavery, hunger, poverty. We aren't a perfect people, but we are a patchwork people. The fabric of our society is the plain cloth of refuge. Many people are forgetting this. We are the ONE PLACE in the world where people who suffer SHOULD find refuge.
     It won't come immediately from government sources, though our government has powerful ability to organize, mobilize, and intervene. The real source of solace comes from the hearts of people who are willing to do what they can, to meet the refugees on the road, to embrace them, lift them up, dress their wounds, clothe their bodies, satisfy their hungers and give them time to recover their inward sense of dignity and worth. It's not magic and it doesn't happen quickly. It is, however, the greatest power in the universe--more powerful than guns and bombs and armies and wars. It is the power that every one of us has and no one can take away from us once we choose it. It is the power of love.

     Find a way today to love someone. Cast yourself onto the tide of love.

Walking in the August Light

     August is a palpable time of year. Even if you were blindfolded, you would know it was August by the way it feels. You know other times of year by the way they smell or sound; weather is... personal that way. I suppose God is like that too.
     Summer is the season when things slow down, fall off, relax. I tell people that neckties should be illegal this time of year, but I never wear one anyway. The Bolo--a sort of lariat with a clip--is the official Arizona alternative. But I don't own one of those either. We just muscle through the hot days and ignore pretty much everything else.
     So it's almost a tradition around here that church programs fizzle out. And it's been discussed in the Fraternity that maybe we shouldn't allow that to happen. Our the training period for Candidates is being reduced from two years to eighteen months. Since we knock off June, July, August every year, we already do an eighteen month program. I imagine somebody got stuck over reducing it any more. So the talk is about how to bring life to the summer months when nobody is out moving around, except to look for a cold drink... I wonder how Jesus did summertime?

     Our cohort group began two years ago with more than twelve people. Half have left. With only six actively pursuing profession, I'm feeling a little nervous. I don't like the leaky-boat feeling, but then I remember Peter shouting at Jesus across the waves. We walk on water. It's part of our charism as Christians. He walks on water so if he's out there and we want to arrange a meeting...
     That's what we're doing. The Conversion Journey. Taking  meetings with God, who founded his kingdom on the seas and established it on the rivers and if we're ever going to get there we're going to have to learn to trust him. That's the news at quarter to three in the morning, Friday, August 6, 2010.



     In August the light changes. I call it the "heaven light". It's thick like water but transparent as glass. You can breathe the light here in the desert, and in August it grows so strong that even the city can't hide it. Everything is embroidered with detail, presence, consciousness. Trees, traffic, buildings. The light spangles through, careening from plane to plane like looking through crystals. It fills. August must be special to God because in the middle of our summer doldrums, he enters.
     We are bag-packing to begin new ministry next month. Our Fraternity work of feeding the homeless has ended, and some members are shifting to catechesis for children, also a way of feeding. Enter JoAnne and Tom to fill a gap that appeared, if we can. Such doubt is not Franciscan, we are learning. God calls from out on the water and we go--out of the boat, onto the waves, like it was everyday stuff. We have this one next year to prepare and then we make our Profession. JoAnne is already planning invitations. I understand now that a year is a pretty big thing, with lots of pockets. I only wonder if it will be enough.
    Before we get there, I'm going to have to face the issue of Reconcilliation--not a one-time event or even a big deal, but because it is part of the daily gift. We are a people reconciled to God through Christ. That means a relationship we must live, like our marriage. It means throwing in together, our life and God's life, sharing everything, personal, intimate, real. It's like walking in the August light, enfolded and transformed. We can't just live in God and not be changed. I've been abstaining from Reconcilliation, and it's time to feast.

     The thing about conversion is that we don't do it for ourselves, but there's still so much to be done...