Through Stained Glass: A Mid-Week Reflection-Silent

It doesn’t ever seem to stop, does it?

Today I sit with this image. Today I hope that as God was once
held by Mary, so we too find ourselves in Her care.

The violence.

The layoffs.

The pain.

The hurt.

The confusion.

The sadness.

The hunger.

The politic-ing.

Some days it is hard to pray. Some days it is find the things to be grateful for. Some days….

Honestly friends, I have no words. No wisdom to dispel. For once, as one who works with words weekly, I have nothing. My heart is heavy for the world today. So all I can offer up, on behalf of the world, the church, our own nation, Lincoln and Logan County, and for First Presbyterian Church are my sighs and a noticeable silence.

So today, I lean into these words:

26 Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words.

And these words:

28 ‘Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. ²⁹Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.³⁰For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.’

And this is the prayer I pray:

Almighty and merciful God, Father of all [people], Creator and ruler of the universe, Lord of all history, whose designs are without blemish, whose compassion for the errors of men is inexhaustible, in your will is our peace. Mercifully hear this prayer which rises to you from the tumult and desperation of a world in which you are forgotten, in which your name is not invoked, your laws are derided and your presence is ignored. Because we do not know you, we have no peace. From the heart of an eternal silence, you have watched the rise of empires and have seen the smoke of their downfall. You have witnessed the impious fury of ten thousand fratricidal wars, in which great powers have torn whole continents to shreds in the name of peace and justice.
 A day of ominous decision has now dawned on this free nation. Save us then from our obsessions! Open our eyes, dissipate our confusions, teach us to understand ourselves and our adversary. Let us never forget that sins against the law of love are punishable by loss of faith, and those without faith stop at no crime to achieve their ends! Help us to be masters of the weapons that threaten to master us. Help us to use our science for peace and plenty, not for war and destruction. Save us from the compulsion to follow our adversaries in all that we most hate, confirming them in their hatred and suspicion of us. Resolve our inner contradictions, which now grow beyond belief and beyond bearing. They are at once a torment and a blessing: for if you had not left us the light of conscience, we would not have to endure them. Teach us to wait and trust. Grant light, grant strength and patience to all who work for peace. But grant us above all to see that our ways are not necessarily your ways, that we cannot fully penetrate the mystery of your designs and that the very storm of power now raging on this earth reveals your hidden will and your inscrutable decision. Grant us to see your face in the lightning of this cosmic storm, O God of holiness, merciful to [all people]. Grant us to seek peace where it is truly found. In your will, O God, is our peace. ~Thomas Merton

Amen.

Hope is the thing with feathers, friends. Let us never give up on that…or each other. Let us not be robbed by some of the great and good gifts this world has to offer.

My prayers with and for you this day. Everyday. 

Through Stained Glass: A Mid-Week Reflection-Essentially

This morning over a cup of coffee I’ve thought a lot about life.

Not necessarily “What is life’s meaning?” but more

What does it mean to live a life of meaning?

I have read a lot of Rilke lately. And Parker Palmer.

Today they spoke to each other:

“Our lives participate in the myth of eternal return:  we circle around and spiral down, never finally answering the questions “Who am I?” and “Whose am I?” but, in the words of Rilke, “living the questions” throughout our lives.”

I like this.

This idea that our lives are like the eternal cycle of the seasons does not deny the struggle or the joy, the loss or the gain, the darkness or the light, but encourages us to embrace it all—and to find in all of it opportunities for growth.

If we are to live our lives fully and well, we must learn to embrace these opportunities, to embrace the opposites of life:  to live in a creative tension between our limits and our potentials.

Essentially, we must honor our limitations in ways that do not distort our true selves, and we must trust and use our gifts in ways that fulfill the potentials God gave us.

Interesting, yea?

Doors open.

Doors close.

Perhaps when a door closes, what we need to do is, rather than pounding on the door in frustration and bitterness, we turn around and begin again. In doing, as Parker Palmer says, we welcome the largeness of life that now lies open to our souls.

The door that closed kept us from entering a room, but what now lies before us is the rest of reality.

Saying ‘yes’ to this reality is where a meaningful life is lived, I think.

Maybe then, where we need to begin, is exactly where we are.

Our lives will gain meaning once we engage life with our whole selves.  We need to embrace this journey toward the discovery of our true selves—the journey towards God.

Remember, we are here not only to transform the world but also to be transformed. We are participants in a vast communion of being, and if we open ourselves to the cycles, rhythms, and seasons of life, we can learn anew how to live in this great and gracious community of love!

Slow down today. Engage a different rhythm. Be at peace in the world. Be at peace with yourself. 

Through Stained Glass: A Mid-Week Reflection-Solitude

(Hall of Mirrors/Galerie des Glaces at Le Chateau de Versailles)

Peace.

Quiet.

Silence.

Solitude.

These are the things I love about Lincoln. One needn't go far to find one of these in their own home, neighborhood or in Logan County. The traffic isn't awful and the crowds aren't either. Small city life isn't so bad.

Paris--everywhere I go I bump into someone. Everywhere I go there is some expression of creativity. Everywhere I go, even in the churches that request silence and the museums that encourages being quiet, there

is

noise.

Sirens. French. Laughter. Horns. English. Crying. Trains. Languages. Emotions.

Yes--all of that--everywhere--at any time of the day.

And it is, well,  beautiful.

Before coming to Paris I read in the book City and Noise:  Sound and Nineteenth Century Paris by Aimee Boutin, that in order to understand the city, one must engage Paris as a melodious space that orchestrates different, often conflicting sound cultures. Herein lies the beauty of Paris, while the same noise that drives unnerves an introvert like me to the core, the sounds of a busy city are refreshing in their own way. The humming of the streets indicate life. My inability to understand most, if not all people, reminds me that the world is much larger than Lincoln, Illinois and that English isn't necessarily the language of love.

One must give themselves over in order to fully experience and understand whatever the other might be:  person, place...even our own self.

The world is so big. So marvelous. Sure, we have our moments. But some 1000s of miles away from home I've felt nothing but the goodness humanity has to offer. From the hospitality to the folks I'm staying with, to the waiter who chuckles with patience as I order in French, the mercy of God is all around us.

Merton once said, in regards to encountering God in life, "It is simply opening yourself to receive. The presence of God is like walking out of a door into the fresh air. You don't concentrate on the fresh air, you breathe it. And you don't concentrate on the sunlight, you just enjoy it. It is all around."

 At one point I was reluctant to admit the possibility of finding the divine in raucous cities. Perhaps my favorite city Chicago is too familiar and I know how to navigate it. But Paris has taught me cities have a peace of their own, the pulse of an uncontainable Love; they have a solitude that only enhances the silence our spirits need; to be quiet may take more of an effort but the few moments there are indeed define grace.

My feet are tired. But I'm feeling good. Paris is the most beautiful place for reasons I know not how to articulate here. Know I am well and will be seeing you soon!

Have a great Saturday.