Through Stained Glass: Lent Word a Day -- Pray

On Sundays

After the sermon is preached

The cover is back on the piano

I pray

Slowly

Deliberately

Not with words

Not with a book

Or a pen

Not even my journal

But with my breath

In the woods

With my body

My palms touch the rough bark

Of oaks, maples

The softness of

Birches and sycamores

I flip my hand over

Their touch soothes

Oneness – bound together

In our

Breathing

Praying

The wind comes

And the wind goes

She shakes the leafless crowns

They wave; I pray

Sunshine streams

Into the forest

Woodpeckers

And Blue jays

Shimmer in the light

Messengers – angels

“He was in the wilderness forty days, tempted by Satan; and he was with the wild beasts; and the angels waited on him.”[1]

A flash of red

A Cardinal, invites me

To be present

To acknowledge the ground

Of my being; and being grounded

Hummus -- home

Salt Creek
moves quickly

Months of snow

And rain

And ice

Run free -- the source

Of this life 

Remember, be thankful

Paws caked in mud

And on my knees

The dogs and me

Listen attentively

As the tiny Chickadee

Leads us in prayer

No words

Only our breath

Only our bodies

Being held by the land

“Who knows me,

Even when I’m lost.”

On Sundays I pray

With the wild ones

No words

No books

Only my body

And their bodies

In Love's embrace

  [1] Have you ever wondered why it is easier for us to believe in an invisible devil created in our image than it is to believe that birds and beasts can speak to us?

Through Stained Glass: The First Friday of Lent - Alone

Put down the weight of your aloneness and ease into the
conversation. ~David Whyte

 

Alone

As the world spiral faster into destruction and despair, I turn my eyes to the Earth. In the flight of tiny birds I find comfort and hope -- like Francis and Mirabai, in their presence, I remember I'm not alone. I need their presence in these wayward times the way I need Scripture!

Today's readings – are timely.

Take, for instance, Psalm 22.

Typically, this psalm is reserved for Good Friday. That's where we know these opening lines from:

"My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?"

Jesus prays these words from the cross. In them, I find comfort knowing that even Jesus knew the deep pain of being human. It was theologian Jurgen Moltmann who upended the theological conversation when in the twentieth century, he re-introduced the idea that in the suffering of Jesus who became the Christ, God suffers with us.

The Gospel lesson today is the prayer Jesus prays for his disciples.

"9I am asking on their behalf; I am not asking on behalf of the world, but on behalf of those whom you gave me, because they are yours….14I have given them your word, and the world has hated them because they do not belong to the world, just as I do not belong to the world. 15I am not asking you to take them out of the world, but I ask you to protect them from the evil one. 16They do not belong to the world, just as I do not belong to the world…18As you have sent me into the world, so I have sent them into the world."

Jesus's life and ministry were in radical fidelity to God and in service to people whom he loved. Jesus remained faithful to his calling on behalf of others, so now the disciples were to do likewise. It was one of invitation and collaboration – to repent from the myth of scarcity and return to a life abundant. In the final hours with his closest colleagues, Jesus prays for their protection as they are now sent into the world to embody the unfolding reign of God's love. 

The psalmist and Jesus, in hours of great unrest and distress, turn to God in prayer. The psalmist lays their deepest fears and objections before God, a type of "working out their salvation" in conversation with God. Jesus prays for the disciples as they soon encounter the rejection he knew from the world. But 'world' here isn't the Earth – but the socio-political climate in which Jesus and the disciples existed. That world rejected Jesus – not the Earth from which the Christ dwells.

The psalmist's distress – as they name the ways they are bullied, the ways their community rejected them, and how they feel abandoned by God – is palpable.

The urgency with which Jesus prays – for protection and holy collaboration – is pertinent.

These words are timely. As war wages on; discriminatory policies pull us farther apart; pipelines penetrate parts of the Earth without permission, all for the sake of consumerism. Abandonment. Fear. Uncertainty. Hope.

What do we do?

We pray. We protect each other. We participate with God in dismantling the destructive ways of this world. We resist throwing our hands up in defeat because of the enormity of evil. We start close in. We show up for one another. We listen to those who experience violations in our communities. We open our windows, and we pay attention to the birds – messengers of hope that sing out, "Be here, here, here. Be here, here, here."

On Fridays, we remember that God is with us amid heartache and pain. We undo death's methods by being creative with how we care for all creaturely life. We trust, just as the birds do that God holds us in Her tenderness and mercy. Even now, the Undoing One is softening hearts and transforming minds – healing is on the way. It's already underway.

On Fridays, during Lent, we remember we are not alone. But God is with us. And you have me, and I have you – and we have the birds.

Through Stained Glass: Advent Word a Day 12 - Splendor

“Speak Little. Learn the words of eternity.
Go beyond your tangled thoughts and
find the splendor of paradise.”
― Rumi

Splendor.

Pomp and circumstance – expectation

Quiet and dark – conversation

At times, I see where I miss the mark – where I need to return to a new page, a blank screen. What if splendor isn’t in the flashy. What if it is in the ordinary?

Advent is the season we prepare for the birth of Jesus. In Jesus, the love of the Holy One is revealed to the world – as God has done before. There was no news coverage of that birth, no parades, no silver, and gold. [Those gifts came later; celestial coverage led the way...]

Ordinary darkness.

Ordinary parents.

What if splendor is the Holy in the ordinary?

What if splendor is reciprocity – celebration … not competition or domination?

The way our Christian story goes – the Christ wasn’t born in *majesty* as we know it. Nor was the Christ clothed in imperial garments.

The splendor of the Holy Three – the Community of Love – is … freedom , interdependence, mutuality.

Advent for Christians is about the descent of the Divine – illuminating what already is – goodness initiated from darkness – interconnectedness.

Splendor – standing on the earth, walking the same trail as other siblings in nature, hearing in the silence – in the beginning, was an intimacy that held [and continues to hold] all things together – even now.

Through Stained Glass: Advent Word a Day 9 - Everlasting

“I lie down in fields of goldenrod, and everlasting. Who could find me?” Mary Oliver

 

Everlasting

It took me a while, but I now know God’s love is everlasting. 

For a long time, Divine Love felt more like a threat [if you don’t eat all your vegetables, I’m sending you to your room]. 

Divine Love is now — soft at the edges; tender to the touch; flowing with life. 

Lady Julian of Norwich says it is the “glorious mingling” of body and soul, matter and spirit.

The everlasting love of the Holy One is what makes all things — one. 

It is what draws us in — nurtures us — conspires with us.

It is embodiment. Yes, what hums throughout time and the universes is the wisdom of Love. It is that love that makes what’s everlasting real. 

And what’s real?

This moment. And that one. The trees and the birds who reside in them. Your partner sitting in the chair across from you and my dog asleep at my feet. 

Maybe this doesn’t sense. At times the everlasting doesn’t either. Yet, what has always been — and will always be — is what’s happening right now. 

What is happening right now?

The Everlasting Love of the Holy Three! 

I stood before this tree last September and wept. It was as if I was fully present to this rooted one. All of who I am stood before all of who they were. Nothing else mattered — because there wasn’t anything else but the ‘glorious mingling’ between us. Even now tears fill my eyes as I give thanks for this tiny tree and wonder if they are covered in snow up there in Alaska.

Everlasting — is ever present. Ever embodying. Never ending.

Dust to dust, after all. 

Through Stained Glass: Advent Word a Day 6 - Fulfil

“Each of us is a completely unique creature and that, if we are ever to give any gift to the world, it will have to come out of our own experience and fulfillment of our own potentialities, not someone else’s.”
― Joseph Campbell

Fulfil

Or

Fulfill

Tell me about your dreams.

Tell me about your fears.

Tell me about your hopes.

Tell me about your despair.

Listen to your heart.

Listen to your mind.

Listen to your spirit.

Listen to your body.

What smell takes you back to your childhood?

What song makes you weep?

What fruit brings delight to your mouth?

What person do you miss hugging the most?

What sight makes you look up in adoration?

From the beginning, let your life speak.

At the end, sing the song you know.

Between them – your story is unfolding – becoming!

Happiness is better shared – in the sharing – a sensual serenity.

Fulfill your life by being yourself.

Embody your desires.

Incarnate your love.

Bring to the world – all of who you are.

Abolish only that which no longer makes sense.

Liberate the ‘yes’ trapped by someone else’s ‘no.’

Let your ‘no’ be what transforms you.

You’re the fulfillment of Love, too.

It’s never too late to begin again.

It’s the right time to begin again.

“Start close in,” as David Whyte says.

Follow your voice toward fulfillment.

Through Stained Glass: Advent Word a Day 4 - Path

“No one saves us but ourselves. No one can and no one may. We ourselves must walk the path.”
― Gautama Buddha

 Path

Tails. Runs. Paths.

All gateways to divinity.

Thresholds.

During sabbatical I sauntered down many paths. Miles worth. Main paths are okay. But, pathways that lead [safely] off the trail – there’s where mystery meanders.

Tracks in the mud along riverbanks and creek beds – many paths leading to one watering hole – but never the same stream.

Paths opening to canyons – terrain that speaks of indifference, impermanence, and emptiness.

Paths are invitations. To the more-than-human world – our plant kin, our slithering siblings, our Mother the Mountain.

It’s like what David Whyte says about the window latch and how it grants us freedom. Paths are thresholds – the dream ladder to divinity.

Your path is beautiful, too. It may not be my path. Or their path.

Tell me about your path. Give me the nitty-gritty details – it’s rocky, it’s smooth, it’s muddy, it’s new.

I’ll tell you about mine. How it switches back, always towards home.

Paths are alluring. They are what lead us into that Great Conversation.