MEDITATIONS

Smith Class of '80 Reunion, Saturday dinner invocation

2010-05-27T04:15:00.000-07:00

As we gather this evening,
our hearts are full of gratitude.

We give thanks for memories
of beautiful, limber,
optimistic, self-conscious
girls
becoming Smith Women.

We give thanks that the yo-yo
of over-confidence
followed by raging
doubt that we would ever be good enough,
smart enough, pretty enough, successful enough

is less frequent

now that we have
engaged in careers,
raised children,
contributed to our communities.

And we give thanks for those wonderful women in the class of 1950
who give us hope
that we too might be striding along in the alumnae parade
another 30 years from now.

As we continue our fellowship --
renewing friendships, making new ones --
let us remember all those who made this meal possible:
farmers and truckers,
grocers and cooks,
and those who serve us.

And may our thanksgivings ever be transformed
into service to others. Amen.

Some thoughts on believing

2010-05-04T05:54:00.001-07:00

Head and Heart

OK, I just have to have things make sense. I need a certain logic, a certain lack of contradiction. So my theology is of the “making sense out of nonsense” type.

I understand that religious language, spiritual language, is metaphorical. It points to something too deep for words. No single metaphor or name will do, hence religious traditions have many books containing many stories and images. At their best these stories and images help make sense of our lives, of reality.

The story I like best in terms of understanding the metaphor of God is the burning bush. Moses comes upon a bush in the desert that burns but is not consumed. After some conversation Moses understands that he is being called to save the Hebrew people. So asks, “Who may I say is sending me on the this mission? What is your name?” And the answer that he receives is Yahweh, “I Am” or “I am who I am becoming.”

Yahweh is such a wonderful name! It signifies “Being” and “Becoming” – “the Reality of what is and was and shall be.” It is that Reality for which I seek, with which I chose to be in relationship. I don’t feel that Reality requires belief. It just IS.

The faith part comes in when I follow my religious tradition, which claims that the character of Yahweh, of Reality, is Love. I set my heart on that. I believe that.

As a Christian, Jesus is my “gate” to understanding Yahweh, Reality. Both the stories he tells and the story he is are the central metaphors for my understanding of how life works. All of my preaching interprets scriptures by asking how do these stories reveal what is really real about Life? Because if the scripture is not talking about Reality, why should anyone bother to listen to it?

So when we read, for instance, in Matthew about folks being ‘cast into the outer darkness where there is weeping and gnashing of teeth’, I think, “Yes! That is the perfect description of what happens to us when we fail to live in the Reality of Love. We are cut off, forsaken, lost.” And that is not because of a reward/punishment by a guy in the sky for good/bad behavior, it is because that is the way humans and human communities work. The Reality is that when we fall out of right relationship with one another, when we fall into denial, the result is alienation. It just IS.

General Convention Miracles

2009-07-28T11:51:00.000-07:00

July 23, 2009
St. Peter’s
8 Pentecost
Ephesians 3:14-21; John 6:1-21

There are so many comforting and familiar phrases in that little reading from Ephesians that we heard this morning. I think it was Bishop McKelvey who often began his blessing with the words, “May the One whose power working in us is able to accomplish abundantly far more than we can ask or imagine.”

But the line that catches my eye today is, “I pray that you may have the power . . . to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge.” It reminds me of another familiar blessing, “May the peace which passes all understanding keep your hearts and minds in the knowledge and love of God and of his son Jesus Christ.”

Love that surpasses knowledge. Peace that passes understanding. As much as I love academics, critical thinking, the scientific method, I also know that there is another kind of knowledge, another kind of understanding, both simpler and deeper. “Book learnin’” isn’t enough to understand the miracle of love.

When I was little, I belonged to a church that looked a little different than this one. It was a bit larger, Romanesque in style, and all the pews and choir stalls had been removed. The big wooden altar stood right in the center of the nave, with interlocking rows of chairs in concentric squares all around. We gathered around that altar every week for communion. At some point, maybe when we started using big loaves of home made bread instead of wafers, affectionately referred to as fish food, I realized that communion was a meal. But instead of getting something to eat and drink, the grown ups in the white robes patted me on the head or passed me by all together.

I felt exactly as you might if you were gathered around the family dinner table and the food was passed over your head. A pat on the head, even with the assurance that I was blessed, was not enough to make me feel included, loved, fed. I wasn’t old enough to articulate a systematic theology of radical welcome, but I was sure old enough to know this was wrong.

I knew Jesus liked children. There were pictures of Jesus holding kids on his lap. I knew Jesus fed people. There were pictures of him at the table with his followers. And then there was that story of him feeding 5000 people with only 5 loaves and two fish. There wasn’t anything in that story about Jesus blessing the bread and distributing it to the grown ups only. That would have been completely unfair in any case, but especially when the loaves and fishes came from a little kid!

Maybe because I complained to the rector, who also happened to be my father; or maybe because the Episcopal Church was undergoing liturgical reform, it wasn’t long before the children were allowed to receive communion too. We felt welcome, included, part of the family.

As I grew older I felt more and more that what I knew as a child was right – the God who is Love presides at a welcome table, holding out food for body and soul, saying, “Take, eat.” So imagine my discomfort when I discovered that most churches were still excluding people from communion. I could invite my non-Christian friends home to the Lord’s House, but they had to sit in the living room while the family gathered around the table for a meal.

Aaaagh! Outrageous. Wrong! Did Jesus say to the 5000, “OK everybody who can pull out a certificate of belonging, we are going to feed you. But the rest of you will just have to watch and try to get the idea of Love and Welcome”? No, he did not. He blessed the bread and broke it and gave it t everyone.

If God is love, and Love welcomes us to eat, we are all welcome. No tests, no age requirements, no previous rituals required. Some are not more welcome than others.

Maybe because some of us complained, or maybe because of on-going liturgical reform, many churches now do not limit the invitation to communion to baptized Christians only. Instead we say, “This is Christ’s table and all are welcome.” We put signs up around town saying, “The Episcopal Church Welcomes You.” And we not only feed everyone on Sunday morning with a ritual meal, we have Coffee Hour, and pot lucks, and Neighbor’s Night. We try to live out the radical hospitality of Jesus.

For me, that was what the General Convention of the Episcopal Church was about in Anaheim a week or two ago. I was a delegate and had the privilege of witnessing the miracle that happens when we trust that Love is our host.

As you know, the church has traditionally excluded LGBT folks. For a while, they went along with it, either passing as straight, or just staying away. But lately, they have been complaining. “You say we are welcome in your churches, you baptize us, you share communion with us, you receive our pledges and are glad for our volunteer work, but when it comes to the sacraments, to the blessings of ordination and marriage, you often pass us by. Or you pat us on the head and tell us God loves us, but not quite that much, or not quite yet. You tell us we need to wait.”

Three years ago, you may remember, the General Convention of the Episcopal Church, in the final hours of the last legislative day, passed B033, agreeing to a moratorium on LGBT ordinations and consecrations, on the development of same sex blessing liturgies, etc. The disciples said, “There is a little Love, maybe 5 loaves and two fishes worth, but not enough to give some to our conservative brothers and sisters here and abroad and some to our LGBT brothers and sisters. LGBT folks, you need to go upstairs and like good little children and wait.” It seemed as if we had penciled in the words “some of” before the “you” on our Episcopal signs.

But this year there was a miracle. New legislation was passed that set aside B033. D025 and C026 [you gotta love the legislative process] moved ahead on ordination and same sex blessings. Additional legislation supported our transgender brothers and sisters. The “some of” was erased, and the Episcopal Church once again welcomes all of you.

I rejoice in this Good News, but of course, there is still a lot of work to do. One of the reasons this welcoming legislation passed is that many of the folks who disagree with such radical hospitality have left. People do what they have to do. I know that if the consecration of Bishop Gene Robinson had not be approved at General Convention six years, I might have left. So I hope that those of us who are relieved and happy will remember to keep the welcome mat out for everyone, including those who disagree with us. I hope we will remember how many, many churches split over slavery during the Civil War, but came back together again a few years later.

It would be too easy for us to jump in a boat by ourselves, like the disciples did on the evening after the feeding of the 5000. It would be so easy to head out for the future of equality and justice that we can see across the lake and forget to take Jesus in the boat. When you leave Love behind, the rowing is awfully tough and you’re not likely to get anywhere.

A couple of weeks ago, during Convention actually, one of my students emailed me,

“What exactly is going on when Jesus feeds the crowds with fishes and loaves? I've heard different interpretations. Sometimes it doesn't really say that he just quadrupled the amount of food that was there, I mean, He is the Son of God, but that also defies the laws of physics!”

Indeed. The multiplication of loaves and fishes is impossible. It’s crazy to think you could feed 5000 people on one boy’s groceries. And it’s just as crazy to think that if you love people, and welcome them, and feed them, that Love will keep multiplying. It makes much more sense to believe in deficits, in “not enough”. It makes much more sense to think that if we exclude “those people” the church won’t shrink so much.

But the miracle is abundance: the abundance of Love, of welcome, of hospitality, of food. And I believe in that.

The Worms Crawl In, The Worms Crawl Out

2009-05-20T13:21:00.000-07:00

This was my Baccalaureate 2009 Address
for Hobart and William Smith Colleges

Classes of 2009, you are almost out of here. You are almost full-fledged adults ready to wing your way into the future, ready to try your hand at getting it right for this world.

You have had many years of schooling now, so you understand where your parents’ and grandparents’ generations have come up short. You can see that in the interests of good hygiene, public safety, economic efficiency we have made a lot of mistakes and left you with a bit of a mess.

We wanted to protect you from illness and pain, violence and death, and so we worked at creating antiseptic environments in which to raise you. We birthed you in hospitals cleaned with anti-bacterial scrubs. We put our garbage down the disposal and invented disposable diapers for you to wear. We removed the aging and dying to nursing homes and hospitals. We separated the poor into public housing and migrant labor camps, and we carted the homeless off our streets and into shelters. We took the poultry and livestock out of our yards and housed and slaughtered them where few had to see or smell or know what was going on.

We wanted you to grow up on the Star Ship Enterprise.

But now you have gone to college. You have learned that many of our attempts to protect you from dirt and violence, disease and death have gone awry. The anti-septic environments have increased autoimmune diseases. The anti-bacterial scrubs and pills have encouraged the growth of even more virulent bugs. Segregating the poor and the different has increased fear and resentment on all sides. Our food production and waste disposal systems are poisoning the planet. Removing childbirth, aging and death from our homes has increasingly alienated us from the natural cycles of life.

So it’s tempting to tell you that you need to grow up fast in order to outwit the enemies we have yet to master. But instead, I’m going to suggest something I learned in Sunday School. “Truly, I tell you, unless you change and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.” (Matthew 18: 3)

I admit it’s an odd thing to do, to tell you to be more like children. You are ready to step out into the adult world. Your parents and teachers have spent the last 20 plus years urging you to grow up. Develop those frontal lobes! Learn to make good decisions! Save our planet! Please! And you are ready to go.

But I want you to hang on to some of that little kid in you. I want you to remember when “Oooh gross!” meant “Let’s check it out.” I want you to learn to love worms again.

Remember when you were a kid how much you enjoyed singing the worm songs? You remember them. “The worms crawl in, the worms crawl out, the worms play pinochle on your snout.” Or how about this one, “Nobody likes me, everybody hates me, I’m going to eat some worms. “

It turns out worm songs are centuries old. There is nursery rhyme published in 1810 about an old lady visiting a church.

On looking up, on looking down,
She saw a dead man on the ground;
And from his nose unto his chin,
The worms crawled out, the worms crawled in.

Then she unto the parson said,
Shall I be so when I am dead?
O yes! O yes! the parson said,
You will be so when you are dead.
(Grammer Gurton’s Garland)

And in a 1796 novel the ballad of Alonzo the Brave and the Fair Imogene includes this verse when the dead Alonzo returns to haunt is faithless bride on her wedding day,

All present then uttered a terrified shout;
All turned with disgust from the scene.
The worms, They crept in, and the worms, They crept out,
And sported his eyes and his temples about,
While the Spectre addressed Imogene.
(The Monk by Matthew Gregory Lewis)

And in case you think that this fascination with worms is restricted to the West, I’m going to read this truly disgusting excerpt from the Theravada Buddhist tradition, 10 Foul Objects for meditation,

#9. Puluvaka: a corpse infested with worms: long worms, short worms, black, green, and yellow worms, squeezed into the ears, eyes, and mouth; squirming and squiggling about, filling the various parts of the body like a net full of fish that has fallen open.
(from 40 Traditional Buddhist Meditation Themes
www.buddhamind.info/leftside/lifestyl/medi/themes.htm)

OK, I have more. But I’ll stop for a moment.

Understand, however, that 8 year-old boys would urge me to go on. And that’s what I want you to remember. Kids love this stuff. Kids and your classmate Caitlin Seadale. When she saw the title for this Address she immediately wrote me from Vietnam on Facebook, “yay for gross things! have you seen the recent photos of my leech-filled adventures? it was AWESOME. :)” So of course, I had to look and found these truly horrifying photos of bloody leeches stuck to her ankles, then photos of legs dripping with blood from where the leeches had been pulled off.

Kids love worms (and other gross worm-like things.) This is why the residents Shropshire, England are so brilliant. They realized the perfect way to celebrate their native son Charles Darwin’s 200 birthday, was to inaugurate the Darwin’s Worms project.

Darwin, as Betty Bayer reminded me yesterday, was fascinated with worms. He spent 40 years observing their work and running all kinds of crazy experiments on them with his kids.

As a result of his fascination, Darwin became the first scientist to discover how earthworms improved soil, taking it in, digesting organic material and ejecting soil as manure, or worm casts.
(Will James, “Darwin Day 2009: Worm Therapy”)

In his 60 odd page treatise on the lowly worm, Darwin waxes eloquent on the worms’ ability to transform death into the material for new life.

So now in Shropshire many of the nursery schools and kindergartens have been supplied with their can-o-worms composting bins. It’s perfect right? You can just see the little kids gathered around. “Ooh gross. Let’s watch some more. Let’s feed them some garbage. Let’s pick them up.” Kids love worms.

Of course, I’d be lying to you if I said worm farming is all fun and games. It can be stinky and messy, especially when the drain gets plugged up. And worms won’t really eat all of my garbage. They won’t process meats and fats and bones. They don’t like coffee grounds and egg shells very much. And there is a limit to how much they can devour. So with the extra scraps from Pasta Night and Campus Peer Ministry types and all the stuff the worms won’t eat, I also have to have a regular compost bucket. And that gets gross, and has to be hauled down to the composting bin. It’s definitely not entertaining, and my kids certainly don’t want to do it.

So why do I do it? Why do I want you to do it? Because learning to love worms is how we’re going to save the planet, ourselves, and each other. As we learn to love the worms, we will learn from them that transforming garbage into the material for new life our purpose too.

Prabi just read to us the story of Asanga. Now he really loved worms. He loved the worms (and the wounded dog) so much that he was ready to give them his own body to live on. He loved them so much he was ready to lift them with his tongue rather than risk crushing them with his fingers. His compassion, after 12 years of meditation, was universal and complete. I’m guessing that most of us will not reach that level of compassion.

But understand that Divine Compassion always calls us to engage fully, personally, and compassionately in the yuckiness of life. In the Christian tradition we remember when Doubting Thomas was invited to place his hand in Jesus’ wounded side, to touch the mark of the nails in his hands. (Jn. 20:27) No antiseptic perfection there. Even resurrected life is reality in its full yuckiness. And in order to know that reality, we have to be willing to touch it. To get our own hands dirty.

Julian of Norwich put it another way – Be a Gardiner. When we begin dig a ditch in the earth, befriend a few worms, get our hands dirty, we begin to learn to do our spiritual work as well. We learn to “seek the deepness.” We learn to face the darkness, to engage our interior turmoil. Turning “the earth upside down” we expose the doubts, the injustices, prejudices, the garbage that must be composted if we are to harvest compassion.

Classes of 2009 you already have the skills you need to deal with the messiness of this world. Over the past four years, in the classroom and in the residence halls, in internships and travels you have had all sorts of experiences, taken in all sorts of ideas. Some experiences have been great, some have been horrible. Some ideas were immediately inspiring. Some you thought were pure garbage. But you have processed it all. The worms crawled in, the worms crawled out expanding your capacity to learn and grow. In your personal lives you have begun to dig around, to sort through uncomfortable messages from within and without. The worms crawl in, the worms crawl out. New understandings of yourselves and of the world are beginning to emerge.

So as you leave this place, please continue to be gardeners. Participate in the joy of abundance. Like Darwin, learn to see the invisible ones. Like kids, retain a fascination for the yucky. Like the adults you have become, attend to the anxious wriggling in your own gut. Listen to the voices you would rather ignore. Learn to love the processing of garbage as it is transformed into the material of your new life.

An adopt some worms.

You’ll love them.

Thoughts on Resurrection

2009-03-21T06:33:00.000-07:00

This is a homily I preached on May 18th at the Geneva Presbyterian Church as part of the Geneva Ecumenical Lenten Breakfast series. The theme this year is Jesus' "I am" statements in John's gospel. If you want to attend the breakfasts, they begin at 6:45.

The Reality of Resurrection

John 11:25-26
Jesus said to her, ‘I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?’

Do you believe this?

Resurrection is often a stumbling block for folks who would like to be or to remain Christians. They say, “I can’t be a Christian because I don’t believe in the resurrection.” Resurrection can also be a stumbling block for Christian communities. They say, “You can’t be a Christian, because you don’t believe in the resurrection (or you don’t believe in it the same way we do.)”

Now it is true that resurrection is one of the central tenets of the Christian faith. Jesus raised Lazarus, Jesus was crucified and raised up on the third day, and (most importantly for this morning) in John’s gospel Jesus proclaims, “I am the resurrection.”

I am. Probably by this point in the series those of you who have been to the Lenten breakfasts every week are tired of hearing about the great “I AM.” But just a quick reminder for those who might have missed it: the “I am” statements in John draw us back to the story of Moses and the burning bush. You remember in Exodus 8 where Moses is attracted to a bush that is burning, but not consumed. God speaks to Moses out of the burning bush, calling him to lead his people out of Egypt. Then in verse 13, Moses says to God,

‘If I come to the Israelites and say to them, “The God of your ancestors has sent me to you”, and they ask me, “What is his name?” what shall I say to them?’ God said to Moses, ‘I am who I am.’ He said further, ‘Thus you shall say to the Israelites, “I am has sent me to you.” ’

Moses asks for God’s name and God replies, “I AM” (or I AM WHO I AM, or I AM WHO I WILL BE). The God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob is “I AM”, Being, Is-ness, All that Is and Shall Be, Reality, the Really Real.

So it is not surprising that in John’s gospel, (the mystical gospel, the gospel of high Christology, the gospel in which we learn to understand that Jesus and God are One,) that Jesus repeatedly uses the phrase “I AM” to identify himself. Each time Jesus uses the phrase “I AM” he gives us a new window through which to see who God is. Each metaphor illumines a different facet of the Reality of God in Christ.

We long to know ‘Who is this God in Jesus? Who is this God in whom Jesus dwells?’ Well, says Jesus, this God is like bread, or light, or a shepherd. This God is like a gate, or a vine. God is like a Way of Being. God is like Resurrection. This God is like Me, Jesus. If you know me, you know God.

Jesus’ life is a resurrection story. All of life, the way Reality works, is a resurrection story. We see it in the natural world every spring. The seed has died and is resurrected in the plant. The caterpillar dies, (goes to complete mush in the chrysalis), and is resurrected in the butterfly. We see resurrection in our families. The carefree couple dies at the birth of their first child and a new family is born. Years later, as their children leave home and take partners, that family dies and is resurrected in the families of the children.

We see resurrection follow crises in relationships and careers. A middle-aged woman suffers the pain and death of a divorce she didn’t want. But then she discovers a new life – interests she didn’t know she had, new confidence, a broader circle of friends. A man too young to retire loses his job, his identity, his livelihood. But then he finds he has the opportunity to take a job that is less stressful, he learns to garden, becomes a mentor to kids in his neighborhood. “The old is dead and gone; behold the new is come.”

Resurrection is just the way life works, it’s just Reality. It’s just what is. It’s just God. Simple, and yet so hard to believe.

“Do you believe this?” Jesus asks. I always think of Aladdin in the Disney movie, stretching out his hand and asking Jasmine, “Do you trust me?” Can you take that leap of faith and risk death for the powerful reality of resurrection? Can you leave behind the safety of a life that is no life? Can you die in the hope of the resurrection?

I find this belief in the resurrection most powerful in the face of grief at the death of a loved one. We think the sadness will kill us – “I can’t live without him or her.” We rest in denial, suppressed anger and grief, walking like zombies through the daily tasks. When we don’t believe in resurrection, we can’t risk descending into hell -- the full force and expression of our feelings – and so there is no possibility of resurrection. For of course, resurrection is predicated on death.

But for Christians there often comes a faithful moment, a graceful moment, in which we begin to believe in resurrection. We remember the story Lazarus. Lazarus died, dead, and was buried in the tomb. And then a few days later, when the body would have been good and stinky, Jesus calls him up out of the tomb.

And we remember the story of Jesus himself. Jesus died, dead, and was buried, and then on the third day was raised up. There could have been no resurrection without the crucifixion.

And so, even in those moments when we are sure life is over (and it is!) we hope for the resurrection from the dead. We trust that we too will be raised up to some new and unexpected life.

Some Christians will tell you this sort of faith is too easy. To be a real Christian you have to believe that dead bodies are lifted up out of the grave alive once more. They say it’s too easy to believe in second chances, silver linings, the dawn following a dark night of the soul. But is it?

When you know a truth that might cost you your job even as you save the integrity of an institution, do you believe in resurrection? Do you believe enough to be a whistle blower? Or is the risk of loss and death too great? When your neighbors are all flying American flags and beating the drums of war, do you believe in resurrection enough to put peace signs on your lawn and car? When your alcoholic partner loses his job again and whacks the kids again, do you believe in resurrection? To you believe it enough to leave and start a new life? Or does fear have the upper hand?

No, believing in the reality of resurrection is never easy. And acting on our belief is even harder.

Even when we know in the very fiber of our being, that living in fear of death is not really living, that in fact it is a slow and constant death, still we are afraid to let go, to lose our life.

Developing a Christian faith is scary and hard. We often need help – the support of the people and traditions of the church. For me that help often comes in the form of relationship.

The Episcopal catechism asks, “Who is God?” The answer? God is Love. For some reason, this name, this metaphor, even though it is patently ephemeral, often helps me out. If I read our scripture for today substituting Love for God-in-Jesus, it reads this way.

‘Love is the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in Love, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in Love will never die. Do you believe this?’

“Love” reminds me that I know God in relationship. And even though I can’t see it, or hold it, or taste it, I know Love. I believe in it. I passionately believe that embracing Reality (with all its pain and sorrow) is the way to new life. And at base I believe that Reality is Love. I can picture Love stretching out its hand to me and asking, “Do you trust me?”

Resurrection is right here. Love overcomes death. Love never ends.

Prayer for the Senior Dinner

2008-05-26T18:42:00.000-07:00

Senior Dinner 2008

‘Oh my God’
by Billy Collins

Not only in church
and nightly by their bedsides
do young girls pray these days.

Wherever they go,
prayer is woven into their talk
like a bright thread of awe.

Even in the pedestrian mall
outbursts of praise spring unbidden
from their glossy lips.

“Oh my God, we’re graduating!” “Thank you, Jesus!”

“God, how can this be over? We’re never going to be together like this again.”

“God, I feel like hell. What was I thinking? What was I drinking?”

And the Churchy friends, shake their heads, purse their lips and say, “Mmm mmm. Lord, have mercy.”

“Oh God, what am I going to do?” “God, I have to get a job.” “God, I just can’t go back to live with my parents.”

Holy One, for a bunch of folks who mostly don’t even believe in you, we sure have been talking to you a lot this week.

So why stop now?

God, we give you thanks for this senior dinner, for the camaraderie of the classes of 2008, for the faulty and staff who have worked so hard to get you Seniors out of here (and to make you miss us), for the food we are about to share, and for all those who had a hand in bringing it to our table: farmers, truckers, grocers, cooks and servers. Amen.

Student Leadership Banquet Keynote

2008-05-01T12:57:00.000-07:00

I want to thank Robert Pool for asking me to share a few thoughts with you this evening. Usually I only get to say a prayer and I sort of feel like I’m cramming a whole tent’s worth of ideas into a very small stuff sack. Luckily for you, this stuff sack is not too much bigger!

What to say to this group? Of course the first thing to say, is “congratulations!” Way to go! You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t make a difference to at least one office, or club, or project. More than likely you are here at this annual student leadership banquet because you have given of your time and talent (maybe even your treasure or your hair.) You have dreamed up ideas, organized events and programs, produced advertising campaigns, set up and cleaned up. And tonight we let you know that your commitment has not gone unrecognized. Hobart and William Smith Colleges would not be the place it is without your efforts and enthusiasm.

I mean, imagine this college run only by the paid staff. People with grey hair saying, I don’t really see why we should have programming after 10:30 or 11:00. Don’t these kids need to get to bed? None of us would have thought up “Dancing with the Faculty”!

So the second thing I want to say to you this evening is “thank you”. You folks in this room are the students we brag on, the students we count on, the students we look forward to bringing back as alumni and alumnae speakers in the years to come.

But I also want to share with you one more thing. It’s a concept that my college president, Jill Kerr Conway, shared with my senior class on graduation weekend. She said, “Get help.”

It’s not a new idea. There is a great story in the Bible. (Hey, I am the chaplain. I’m allowed to mention my book. Ha.) In Numbers, we read about Moses. Moses has just done all this amazing stuff. He gave up a life of royalty when he could have passed as an Egyptian prince. He spoke truth to power. With God’s help he led the Hebrew people out of slavery, parting the Red Sea, so they could escape.

And what thanks does he get? None. It’s constant complaining. “We would have been better off as slaves in Egypt rather than stuck out here in the desert starving and dying of thirst. So Moses has a chat with God and God provides water from a rock and manna for them to eat. Are they happy? No. Now they are tired of eating Saga, I mean, manna. And they are acting up: having parties with all kinds of craziness, worshipping golden calves. You get the picture. It’s kind of like the end of term at HWS. And Moses is going crazy trying to take of everyone’s needs. Finally he goes up to have a word with God and practically shouts, “Am I this people’s Mother?” “Do I have to do everything around here? And not a word of gratitude?”

Sound familiar? It should. I see a lot of Moses out there. I’ve seen you taking charge of everything. I’ve seen you bearing the brunt of whining and complaining in your clubs and organizations. I’ve seen you get exhausted and sick. So many of you should be able to imagine yourselves looking up and maybe shaking your fist in the air, “Am I this people’s mother?” “Do I have to do everything around here?”

And God’s answer to Mose (and to you) is . . . No!

God said, “No.” “Get some help.” Really. God tells Moses, “Stop trying to do this all by yourself. Get some folks to help you. Form a committee.” I’m not kidding. Numbers 11:16. You can read it for your self. God says go get seventy people to help you.

This same story is told over and over, because ‘do everything all the time’ types like us, often don’t get it.

How many of you head Wangari Maathai speak at the Smith Opera House last week? You remember the story she told at the end about the humming bird? Now, it was clear to me that she didn’t finish the story. For those of you who missed it, here is a less poetic version of what she said.

Once there was a beautiful forest with many birds and animals living in it. But lightening struck and a fire started. The wood was so dry that soon the forest was a raging inferno. All the birds and animals were driven out to the edge where they stood watching the blaze. Soon the animals noticed a little humming bird flying to the pond, scooping up one drop of water in its beak, and flying back to drop it on the fire. Back and forth, back and forth it flew. “What are you doing?” asked the other animals. No answer. Back and forth, back and forth. “What are you doing? they cried again. Still no answer. The animals watched the fire bun and the little bird dropping one little drop of water on the fire at a time. They asked a third time, “What are you doing?” Finally the little bird paused to answer. “I’m doing the best I can.”

But obviously, that is not the end of the story. There are at least two possible endings.

1. The little bird continues to fly back and forth, back and forth, dropping one little drop of water on the raging inferno until the bird has a heart attack and dies. The fire continues to burn everything, including all the animals in its path, until it reaches the sea, leaving a scorched wasteland.

Or

2. The animals hear the little bird’s response and each one asks him or her self, “Am I doing the best I can? No.” And then they ask each other, “What if we all pitched in?” Antelopes, hyenas, tortoises, elephants, hippos, vultures and eagles, gorillas and baboons, even human beings, all started to bring what ever water they could. And some began to build a fire-break. And some brought food and water for the fire-fighters. And some sent word to the neighboring areas, and more help arrived. And after some time, and much help, the fire was put out.

I’m sure you prefer, as I do, the second ending. And I am pretty sure that is the ending Wangari Maathai wanted us to imagine. After all, Wangari Maathai did not plant one tree, and one tree, and one tree all by herself. No, she got help. And soon her little project turned into an entire Greenbelt Movement.

I just want to close by again thanking you for assisting those who work so tirelessly at HWS. Because no matter how hard we worked, flying back and forth and back and forth, we couldn’t have had the great year we had without all of your help.

Why Knit: Product or Process?

2008-02-29T07:27:00.000-08:00

Why am I always knitting? Is it to produce items or is it to be doing something? And as usual, my answer is, “it depends!”

Obviously there is always some kind of product involved. I don’t just knit during the day and, like Penelope, pull out my work at night, only to start over again the next morning. (Although there are times when the casual observer might wonder as I un-knit or rip out many rows in order to correct an error.) In the end I always make something.

But the reason for knitting and the level of engagement in the product versus the process can shift quit a bit. Part of the reason I knit is to keep from fidgeting. If I am waiting for an appointment, if I am riding in a bus or car or plane or train, I often knit to calm myself. I don’t worry about spending so long sitting because I’m making something too. I am not wasting my time. As long as I have my knitting, I am never bored, especially if I am working on a fun (i.e. somewhat complex) project.

I knit to sooth myself emotionally as well. If I am really upset and have something to brood over, knitting (or crocheting) is the perfect medication. Making the product becomes the excuse for engaging in a process that allows me to calm down, to reflect both actively and in more passive, dreamlike states. In the late ‘90’s I told my sister Gretchen I didn’t have time to knit. She said, “No, no. The reason to knit is so that you take the time.” In that sense, it doesn’t matter what you knit, but that you knit.

A second reason for knitting is to help me to pay attention to something else, not the knitting. Having something to do with my hands, helps me “stay in the moment” when I am sitting at a meeting with many people and little opportunity to speak. The rhythmic motions soothe the little squirrel that runs around in my brain, allowing me to focus on a lecture or listen to the radio more intently. But this sort of knitting, the kind intended to keep a part of my mind/body occupied so that the rest of me can be still and present, is rarely about the product. I am not able to knit very complex items and still pay attention to the agenda. Very often, as I am about to head out the door for some sort of deadly Parent Night meeting at the high school or a diocesan gathering, I find myself franticly searching for something, anything, to knit. If I realize my current projects are too complex or too large, I will literally pick up any ball of wool and any pair of needles and just knit “whatever” to keep from going crazy. If I don’t have my knitting I will be jotting down what I need at the grocery story or making extended “to do” lists instead of paying attention.

Of course the third reason for knitting is to make beautiful things. If I have extended free time I love diving into a project that includes learning new skills, creating a pattern from scratch, following a complex pattern of color or cable. In these instances I am also knitting to entertain myself, but it’s all about the product. I’m really interested to see what develops below my clicking needles, to feel the fabric, to try on or hold up the product. My first cable knit sweaters, the felted bag and felted slippers (which require an inordinate amount of stitch counting), the double-sided Hobart scarf, are all examples.

Unfortunately, I don’t have a lot of free time. So there are several more complex, more “fun” projects in bags around my house than I care to admit!

The Lyra Coat I just finished (see photo above) took a long time because the knitting itself was boring (all garter stitch) but when we were on break, I didn't have too many meetings and lectures to attend.

Advent Meditations for 2007

2007-12-04T09:39:00.000-08:00

Preparing for the Alpha and Omega, or Learning to Live Expectantly

Advent is not yet the season of hope, but rather a season is which we prepare ourselves to hope for new life, for light, for truth. Advent is a time for opening ourselves to possibility. Now in the time of anxious waiting, like Mary, we prepare with both joyful anticipation and real fear for the coming birth. We are worried because we know that birthing new life is a painful and dangerous thing. We are anxious because the light that is coming may reveal things about us, about our world, that we would rather keep hidden. We are nervous because Life and Light may herald the death of old ways, judgment about what is really going on.

How to manage the anxiety of Advent? How to prepare for the possibility of this wonderful, awe-ful Life and Light and Truth? The Gospel of Matthew suggests,

Keep awake therefore, for you do not know on what day your Lord is coming. But understand this: if the owner of the house had known in what part of the night the thief was coming, he would have stayed awake and would not have let his house be broken into.

Many people today prepare for the worst, for the attack of thieves and terrorists. We put locks on our doors, install security systems, live in gated communities and carry whistles or pepper spray (or even guns) when we venture out. We know that we can be attacked at any time and so we endeavor to prepare and protect ourselves. The current administration loves to play on our fears, reminding us of how important it is to have “Home Land Security” and to send our young people off to “protect our country”.

And yet, are equally prepared for the possibility of a tough Love entering the scene? Are we ready to have a little light shone on the realities of economic inequality, of political oppression, of prejudice that set our society, our world, at such risk? Are we prepared for the sudden arrival of One who might ask, “Do you love me? Do you feed the hungry, and welcome the stranger? Do you care for the poor and visit those in prison? Do you love your neighbor as yourself?”

Perhaps one piece of the Advent puzzle is to prepare our hearts, to live expectantly.

Making our Insecurity Check List

One way to do this is to acknowledge fully what we are anxious about, what we fear, what we feel unprepared for, what we are protecting. Maybe it’s tests and papers. Maybe it’s all the grading. Maybe it is trying to manage our finances. Maybe it is trying to meet the expectations of others at home, at school or at work.

You can take a few minutes to relax and acknowledge “our fears of the darkness of the world and of our own lives” as the Night Prayer service in the New Zealand Prayer book puts it. Make a list of what is worrying you, and “insecurity check list.” Now fold up the list and put it in a box or a basket, God’s In Box, as Anne Lamott puts it. Ritually let to of those anxieties, let them rest in God.

Next, make a list of those things you want, your hopes. Take a few minutes to contemplate what you want for the end of term, for Christmas, for your family and friends; what you want for your future. Then fold up that paper and put it in the same basket with your other worries. Remember the words to the old carol, “The hopes and fears of all the years at met in You tonight.” We can prepare our hearts by letting go not only of our anxieties, but also of our specific expectations. Letting go of expectations allows us to live expectantly, loving what is and is becoming, rather than trying to control the outcomes.

Poet Mary Oliver writes,

Divine attentiveness cannot be kept casually, or visited only in season, like Venice or Switzerland. Or, perhaps it can, but then how attentive is it? And if you have no ceremony, no habits, which may be opulent or may be simple but are exact and rigorous and familiar, how can you reach toward the actuality of faith, or even a moral life, except vaguely? The patterns of our lives reveal us. Our habits measure us. [from Long Life]

What patterns or habits might we each develop to keep us awake, keep us faithful, keep us prepared to welcome new life? What practices might help us to “live expectantly”?

Preparation: Making Room in the Inn

2007-11-30T06:42:00.000-08:00

This is another piece written for the HWS Readers College, Knitting Our Lives.

We are approaching the season of Advent. This is a time in the Christian tradition when we prepare for “the coming of the Lord”; when we prepare to receive the Light, the Truth. Advent is the time when we prepare to behold the Reality in the midst of our reality.

But how to prepare for such a thing? How do we even think of preparation for the Incarnation of all that is and was and ever shall be, when we are in the midst of finishing up papers, preparing for end of term events and celebrations? How do we prepare for such a big thing when we have lists and lists of small things we want to accomplish before Christmas? We have presents (to knit and to buy), cards to write, cookies to bake, parties to attend and host. Life can become a welter of preparations, and yet we are not PREPARED!

Sometimes my life is like the inn that had no room for Mary and Joseph. At the last minute, maybe I can prepare a little space out back where the cattle feed. But even then, will I really look to see what’s going on out there? You never hear about the innkeeper or the other guests coming out to see the newborn babe. No doubt they were too busy with their own preparations to be enrolled in the government tax program and then return home the their responsibilities.

So how do we prepare out hearts at this dark, busy, sometimes frantic and stress-filled, time? Well, I’ve come to believe that I have to prepare by consciously making room in the inn of my life. I have to make room in my calendar. Rather than fill in every hour with appointments and activities, I have to leave time open to prepare for my activities – planning services, baking, writing prayers, getting gifts and cards together. And I need to leave time open for quiet, for sitting, for listening, for sleeping and for daydreaming. When I have made room in my life, I am able to open the door to a stranger in need (that is to the Holy) and offer welcome. I am able to expand outward, my eyes, ears, hands and heart open, to receive whatever is coming, what ever is.

Despite my best intentions I easily get sucked into the details of holiday preparations and find I have no room left in the Inn for what is most important. Naturally, knitting is a wonderful spiritual tool at these times. I know that Advent, one of the more chaotic times of year, might not seem an obvious time to begin a complex knitting project (or two!) But in fact I need the lure of something really fun, really engaging to draw me away from work. That new Scandinavian rabbit mitten pattern [hem.bredband.net/b382726/Ekorre.xls] makes me eager to take time off. I can’t resist taking a few minutes here, an hour or two there, to sit and be fully in the moment of creating. Beginning an exciting new project, allowing myself to relax into it, actually creates the interior space I need to welcome in New Life. I may not be as prepared for every detail on my “to do” list, but I am wonderfully open to love and be loved by Love when I am doing something I love.

Thoughts on Gluttony

2007-11-18T10:07:00.000-08:00

Can Knitting Keep Me Sane?

This was a writing assignment topic I gave to my Knitting Our Lives course.

In my own essay I replied, NO! Nothing can compensate for the madness! I want to be everywhere and do everything all the time. I’m running to attend meetings, answer emails, plan programs, talk with community members, lead worship, facilitate clergy groups, read the mountain of paper that crosses my desk. Oh, and I have a home life too. I want to keep my house from tipping over the abyss into chaos, to keep at least some of the underwear clean, maybe even iron occasionally. I have shopping, cooking, bill paying, errand running. I even, surprise, want to spend time with my kids, talk with my sisters, do more than fall sound asleep with my husband.

A line from a prayer of confession comes to mind, “Rescue us from our sin.” For me the sin is gluttony. I am offered a vast abundance of projects to do, places to be, people to engage with and I don’t know my own limits. My eyes are larger than my calendar. At the buffet of life, I overfill my plate again and again. I wolf down as much as I can as fast as I can until I collapse in a pathetic heap, panting and whining about the problem of too much.

Of course, the problem is not God’s abundance. The problem is my inability to pace myself, to make choices, to enjoy an ample sufficiency and then stop. I remember a friend of mine going to his psychiatrist and complaining about his weight gain. The doctor said, “Don’t eat so much.”

I can hear the same doctor telling me, ”You are too busy? Don’t do so much.”

Right.

I know that.

I need to make choices to do and not to do. I need to “eat” more slowly. I need to create time and space to breathe.

And maybe knitting can keep me from over indulging my desires to participate in everything, to have a finger in every pie. I don’t mean the kind of knitting I often do, the simple projects that calm my nerves during meetings, or allow me focus at lectures. But rather the kind of knitting, complex or not, that calls me to take time for myself, to sit still, to find the rhythm of my hands and the rhythm of my thoughts flowing together in a satisfying pattern.

Any knitting takes the edge off for me and brings me closer to a state of presence than I might otherwise find. But knitting alone, in the quiet or listening to music, offers me, if I will choose it, the opportunity to experience Sabbath time: rest, prayer and presence to the full range of what is. I once told my sister Gretchen I didn’t have time to knit. She said, “You knit to take the time.”

2007-10-27T18:35:00.000-07:00

This week's Windows will explore the spiritual discipline of letting go of comparisons. We will take as our text a piece of Luke 18, "I thank God that I am not like other people", and a reflection on the Tao,

the sage,
in harmony with the Tao,
needs no comparisons,
and when he makes them, knows
that comparisons are judgements,
and just as relative to he who makes them,
and to the situation,
as they are to that on which
the judgement has been made.

Whole-heatedness

2007-09-22T08:34:00.000-07:00

“We have not loved you with our whole hearts.”

This line from the General Confession in the Book of Common Prayer reminds me that “whole-heartedness” is a spiritual practice.

Of course, it is easy to say, “Be enthusiastic, live whole-heartedly.” But it is not always that easy to do. Sometimes we are lethargic, tired. Often we hold back part of our hearts. We don’t dare risk whole-hearted enthusiasm.

Why? Sometimes we are just tired. We haven’t given ourselves enough sleep. Or we have been working out too hard. But physical exhaustion is curable. You’ve probably seen one of the email signatures I use from Sleepfoundation.org, “Sleep: as important as diet and exercise, only easier.” Most of us can get some sleep! Taking care of our bodies is taking care of our souls. The two are not separable.

Often, however, our feelings of lethargy, lack of enthusiasm are not really the result of physical exhaustion. Rather something is keeping parts of our heart occupied. Grief, fear, self-doubt and anger are often the lodgers, taking up rooms in our hearts where Love ought to be living.

Grief may just need a place to stay for a while. I read somewhere that our hearts can be like homeless shelters, where we take in the parts of ourselves that need protection and nurturing. If you have suffered a great loss – broken up with a girlfriend or boyfriend, had a death in the family, failed a course – you will need to grieve. Your whole heart may not be available for enthusiastic participation until you have healed. So just giving yourself the encouragement and reassurance that this grief will begin to need less and less room over time may be helpful. Knowing that enthusiasm will eventually begin to visit your heart again and then move back in, can see you through.

Fear and self-doubt are something else again. I don’t think it is an accident that the first words out of the mouths of the risen Christ and angels in the Bible are, “Be not afraid.” We have to let the fear out in order to let Love in. I always tell people that I can predict how well the Hobart football team will play by how enthusiastically they sing during Football Chapel before home games. You may laugh, but it’s true. When the team is confident about the game ahead, they are willing to let go and to risk singing loudly. When they are harboring doubts and fears, they don’t sing with their whole hearts. And I can hear the difference. In fact, it’s my contention that if they could discipline themselves to sing enthusiastically, no matter how they felt at first, they would become cheerleaders for their own souls. The practice of enthusiastic singing can banish fears and doubts making available our whole hearts. It’s like that verse from Chris Williamson’s Song of Soul:

Come to your life like a warrior
Nothing will bore yer, you can be happy
Let in the light, it will heal you
And you can feel you
Sing out a song of the soul.

Another unwelcome guest is anger. You have to open the door of your heart and let it out. Nurturing anger, feeding it, coddling it in the closet of your heart is like taking in a wolf cub for a pet. Soon it will grow so strong that it eat you up! Practicing the spiritual discipline of enthusiasm or whole-heartedness requires acknowledging and then releasing (or maybe evicting) those that are just taking up spiritual space and energy.

Prayer for 9/11/2007

2007-09-11T06:31:00.000-07:00

Watching the flag being lowered I am reminded of all the feelings of that day. Suddenly we didn’t feel so proud, so courageous, so sure. I’m going to invite us to go back to where we were on 9/11 and take a few moments in silence just to remember.

Heart at the heart of the world,
we remember all those who died on September 11, 2001
in New York City, in Pennsylvania, and outside Washington DC.
Let us hold them and all dear to them in our hearts. (silence)

Heart at the heart of the world,
we remember too those who were injured on 9/11,
some of whom died later, some of whom still struggle to recover.
Let us hold them and those who care for them in our hearts. (silence)

Heart at the heart of the world,
we remember as well those who were rejected, persecuted, tortured and killed
as the result of fear, anger and prejudice following 9/11.
Let us hold in our hearts all those who have been and continue to be
targets of hatred and violence. (silence)

Holy One we lift our hearts, hearts full of prayer and pain, to you.

Transform our sorrows and longings
into a passion for your healing and peaceful justice
that our hearts may be one with your heart.

In your many names we pray. Amen.

First Faculty Meeting Prayer 2007

2007-09-11T06:29:00.000-07:00

Today I saw a pileated woodpecker
and I laughed and I wanted to call somebody and say,
“Hey! Guess What! I just saw a pileated woodpecker!
The one I’ve been waiting all summer to see!”

And yesterday Rose Arens Kendrick, age 15 months,
led me in a Simon Says dance behind the altar after Communion! [arms]

And the day before one of our students told me he was still sober after a year!

And last week, my Common Ground mentor gave the most eloquent speech,
about how P.E.H.R. had totally changed her life!

And the week before that, well, you were there,
it was Convocation with all those flags,
that vision and inspiration and energy!

I believe the mystics are right.

There are miracles everywhere,
You just have to have eyes to see them.

And so as we begin this new year,
I invoke the mystical, the magical, the deeply beautiful, the playful,
to bless us with eyes to see.

Let us see the miraculous -- everyday,
Let us count our blessings
and recount them,
So that when sorrow strikes (as it often does,)
we see the amazing strength and care of our community;
so that when we are bitterly disappointed (as we often are,)
we can find the courage to re-engage the struggle;
so that when the big miracles come along (which they do regularly,)
we can celebrate them fully.

In the name of all that is sacred. Amen.

2007-09-08T12:23:00.000-07:00

Last week’s lectionary reading included these words, “When you give a luncheon or a dinner, do not invite your friends or your brothers or your relatives or rich neighbors, in case they may invite you in return, and you would be repaid. But when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind.”

That kind of radical hospitality put me in mind of a Mary Oliver poem (of course!)

Making the House Ready for the Lord from Thirst

Dear Lord, I have swept and I have washed but
still nothing is as shining as it should be
for you. Under the sink, for example, is an
uproar of mice – it is the season of their
many children. What shall I do? And under the eaves
and through the wall the squirrels
have gnawed their ragged entrances – but it is the season
when they need shelter, so what shall I do? and
the raccoon limps into the kitchen and opens the cupboard
while the dog snores, the cat hugs the pillow;
what shall I do? Beautiful is the new snow falling
in the yard and the fox who is staring boldly
up the path, to the door. and still I believe you will
come Lord: you will, when I speak to the fox,
the sparrow, the lost dog, the shivering sea-goose, know
that really I am speaking to you whenever I say,
as I do all morning and afternoon: Come in, Come in.

The idea of welcoming in the “other”, regardless of the fact that they will upset my life, cause irritations, maybe even fight with each other (can you imagine the fox joining that brood of mice, squirrels, raccoons and geese?) is a little disturbing. I enjoy inviting friends and family and students and colleagues into my home, but what is so great about that? “Even the tax collectors do the same.” How do I learn to risk inviting in those who are different, those who need an invitation?

Even inviting in the usually welcomed requires a commitment to the spiritual practice of hospitality. In order to be ready to lose control of my agenda, to leave aside my preoccupations, in order to be fully present to the guest at my door, at my table, I have to practice letting go, being in the moment, paying attention.

One practice is to take time to notice “others”. To look around and see who is left out? Who is lonely? Who is rejected? Once I see them, I can invite them in. These others can be people. But they can also be ideas. I try to practice putting down my rigid understandings in order to entertain a new (perhaps intrusive, squirrel-like) thought.

Once I am practiced enough, perhaps it will not take too much effort to say along with Naomi Sahib Nye,

No, I was not busy when you came!
I was not preparing to be busy.
That’s the armor everyone put on
at the end of the century
to pretend they had a purpose
in the world.

I refuse to be claimed.
Your plate is waiting.
We will nip fresh mint
into your tea.

OPENING

2007-09-04T16:08:00.001-07:00

OK, so there haven't been too many "openings" in my days lately.

Sunday was our opening New Chapel, windows into what matters through spiritual practice.

We began with a poem from Rumi and some movement to see how closed and open felt in our bodies. We did some meditations on images of openness -- open doors, open roads, open fields, open windows, open blossoms, etc. and noted what images came and settled with us.

We also listened to some excerpts from a Mary Oliver poem.

No wonder we hear, in your mournful voice, the complaint
that something is missing from your life!

Who can open the door who does not reach for the latch?
Who can travel the miles who does not put one foot
in front of the other, all attentive to what presents itself
continually?
Who will behold the inner chamber who has not observed
with admiration, even with rapture, the outer stone?

Well, there is time left --
fields everywhere invite you into them. . . .

Listen, are you breathing just a little, and calling it a life?

While the soul, after all, is only a window,

and the opening of the window no more difficult
than the wakening from a little sleep.

Then we took some silence and contemplated what it might mean for us to practice openness, and noted what came to us in the silence.

These opportunities brought out both the longing for openness and our fears of openning. We need some protection, some boundaries, in life. But we can't live hidden in a cave. And so we each ended with a prayer and a little practice to help guide our intention towards openness in the coming week. My prayer is that I will take appropriate risks to be open to what IS. And my practice is to be alerted by my hands (clenching, curling, fidgeting) as to when I might need to be more intentional about opening.

We can't hold hands or recieve gifts very easily when our hands are closed.

Windows

2007-08-28T18:10:00.001-07:00

A couple of people have asked me about the New College Chapel planned for Sundays at noon.

Here is what I wrote one student (more or less).

The “new” college chapel, for people seeking windows into what matters through spiritual practice, is going to be a ritual gathering of folks who want to go deeper with their spiritual lives. In my observation some of those people belong to particular faith groups and some don’t. The idea would be to take seriously practices such as hospitality, gratitude, attentiveness, openness, joy, healing, etc. Each week we will take some time to center, to share a bit about what is going on with us, then engage in a ritual, hands-on way a particular contemplative spiritual practice. We will close our time together with a personal commitment to being intentional about that practice in the week following. I am hoping to write in this blog on the practice for the coming week so that folks can be thinking about it in advance, if they want to. And also folks could comment about how the practice we are holding up in a particular week is affecting them.

I thought this coming week, for our first gathering, we might focus on the practice of openness. This seem appropriate given the image of windows. I'll write a bit more on that tomorrow.

Begin Again

2007-08-26T09:47:00.000-07:00

I always have at least two responses to the new year -- excitement on the one hand and dread on the other. It's all about potentials. I am so excited about the possibilities for everything to go well. This year I'll be more connected, the groups I'm a part of will be more meaningful, I'll learn and grow, folks will find the activities in Religious Life will lead them into deeper relationships with God and one another.

At the same time I am so worried. What if no one comes? What if everything is flat, lacking in meaning? What if I am not doing my job well and no one likes me?

I guess that is where paying attention to my spiritual life comes in for me. I can just flip flop between excitement and dread. Or I can go underground like a mole and try not to pay attention to what's happening with me or anyone else. Or I can attempt to live creatively in the tension.

That last option, which some people call "living in faith" is the one I try to chose. I try to find places of quiet and prayer where I can be fully present to what IS and less focused on what might be. I repeat the "Serenity Prayer " and Julian of Norwich's mantra, "All will be well." I remind myself that I am not alone. And I find meaning and confidence in reaching out in love to those around me.

Let me know how you find "beginnings" and "transitions". How does your spiritual practice help you? Or get in the way?