Covenant Prayer

My Jesus--
Your Faith has made me a part of you
like a branch on a vine--
like an ear of corn tucked firmly
in the elbow of a cornstalk;
like a stone in the bottom of a stream,
or the scent of smoke on the evening wind.

In the night I cannot sleep
for the pounding of my heart as your hand
slips across my shoulder.
In my office chair I leap
for you have touched me.
Through each clamoring day
I breathe your penetrating breath
and, so strengthend by your quickening life,
break free into the holy silence,
to stand abandoned in the wind of your Hope.

I beg your permission:
to sell myself forever into the servitude of disciple life;
to exist, only when you think of me;
to know, only when you touch me;
to live, only when you grasp me--
or not at all.

Accept my challenge, Lord.
Defeat me soundly,
until there is nothing left of me...

but Love.

Noises Off

     JoAnne and I went on a silent retreat. I was going to blog about it, but I wanted to surrender to the silence. After the retreat, as is always the case, "coming back into the world" was difficult and I put off writing, trying to sort myself out. Now it's been a couple of weeks and I noticed something... I noticed the noise in my life.
     This isn't the first time I've noticed it. Actually, it makes some great stories. But this time I particularly noticed the noise inside my own head, how my thoughts are always swirling like a hurricane until I almost want to run away, find someplace quiet and just sit until it all goes away.
     Part of spiritual life is learning to turn off the noise, or at least learning to close an interior door between oneself and the noisy world. Our world is definitely full of noise. Televisions, music systems, even traffic in the street. Noises at night disturb my sleep. Noises at work tell me what's happening in and around my classroom, playground, caffeteria. It's not just the noise, but the way we need to be always listening in order to know what's going on. Part of gaining interior silence requires letting go of our involvement in the world. This is a faith issue. It means we are willing to let God take care of the world for at least a while.
    
     But like anything worthwhile, cultivating interior silence requires both effort and sacrifice, sort of like learning to do crunches, or eating healthy. I think part of wisdom (part of growing old and experienced) is learning the basic commerce of living and growing: if it's worth having, you usually will have to pay for it. There is another principle that goes along with this: beginners must start at the beginning, and there's no way around it.

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Idea jump...

I met a woman this week who does not believe in God or in the devil. These things--good and evil, she says--are the products of human thinking.
     I was so surprised by her frank assessment that I didn't know what to think. I realized after awhile that she believes in the supremacy of humankind. There is no source. We simply exist and have our effect on history.
     I, however, believe that I am not superior. In fact, I'm rather low on the creation ladder and wherever I go I must deal with the fact that there are more powerful beings than myself, and that at least one of them does not have my best interest in mind. In fact, the devil's great obsession is my destruction. And weak as I am I must constantly flee to God's protection. If I forget, or if I get smug and think I can do it on my own, well, the consequences hurt.
     I really don't know what to say to a person who doesn't believe in God. Except that it's one of those situations when it helps to withdraw into the silence, where the noise of the world falls away, to know and understand once again that God exists, that he holds me and my life in his Hands, and that he keeps me safe forever.

     Not even death can break his grip.

We are laborers in the Gospel,
planting a garden of dignity
where creatures and Creator meet.
Ours is a work of praise and celebration
gratitude and joy.
The Sleeper has risen from her dreams
summoned by Love.

We walk arm-in-arm with the problems of life,
bringing them to audience with the All-Seeing;
nothing escapes the gaze of Love,
hovering above dark waters.
God stirs in compost, making all things increase.


Time grows here reaching across to the Light.
In the branches of every-day living
we bear sweet fruit until
in all directions,
it is Love.

Walking in Light and Holy Darkness

"There is a light that can overcome the darkness. There is no darkness that will overcome the light..."

     We've been on retreat. I was deliberately silent, though I thought at first I would blog during the retreat to track our experiences and progress. We went Friday, Saturday and Sunday and now, on Tuesday, I'm only beginning to find my feet.
     I still don't want to go into detail about what we did or what happened, except to tell you that the man who guided us sang to us, beginning and ending every learning session, and often times in the process, because his songs were prayers, gathered and woven from many times and places but always uniquely his. They were mostly in the chant-forms of India, which means that while sung in a language I do not speak, they echo in me, like this morning, waking me and not permitting me to linger in bed. He taught us that the fire of God is within all of us, and through prayer, the fire can take hold.

     There is a light that can overcome the darkness.

     Another reason I can't sleep this morning is because I woke up understanding something about pilgrims. The minute you set foot on the journey, you become a pilgrim. The journey changes you and changes the way you relate to the world. Other cultures understand this, and they treasure and attend pilgrims as visitors from God. Americans don't do this, which may explain why other cultures attract us when we find ourselves "on the road" with God. The teachers become quite comfortable with their pilgrim identity and live neither here nor there, but in the journey, on the road, relying on the kindness and recognition of strangers who see them not as strange, but mobile, though their hearts may be quite rooted in God.
     This whole life is a journey and every one of us is a pilgrim. The only difference among us is that some know and understand who they are, and many don't. The first nice thing about our retreat was the way Father Cyprian introduced us to the world outside of our American experience. He showed us that we can approach the world not as conquerers, but as equals. We can sing each other's songs, we can share our stories, we can walk together for a little while with anyone we meet and be part of one another. It's so much better than shooting guns and making parts out of each other...

     The way of Christ is the way of peace. He came to make peace between God and humanity and thus among all people. But we must understand that peace--the peace that surpasses understanding--is not a one-time event that comes like a bucket of water dumped over our heads. Peace is a journey in which we meet many people, many teachers, in many times and places. Over time we lose track of ourselves and become changed, transformed into vessels for the Divine, who is with us from the beginning, even when we are unsuitable. Poor vessels, to hold such Treasure. But the nature of this life is that, while it is a journey, it is never a solo journey. We begin united with God, and find ourselves in everyone we meet.

     The trick is to keep what we find...