Grace sightings for the month of March

This God-spy has been on the move, with eyes open, ears listening, hands touching, alert, eager (except, of course, for those times when I've been none of the above). Here are some of my sightings:

--A gathering of Friends in Sacramento: I had the privilege of participating with FWCC Friends from around the hemisphere as we met in Sacramento under the theme, “Let the Living Waters Flow.” New friendships and renewed contacts highlighted this time together. It was full of grace. (Photo: Margaret Fraser, Elenita Bales, Anna Baker.)

--A birthday party: We helped Peter, our youngest grandchild, make that great leap from five to six years old. Living so close to family is a grace I don’t take for granted. Nor do I take “minion cake” for granted.

--Having our granddaughter stay with us over spring break: Not only does Breanna like to be with us, she loves to cook for us! And she does it so well. Our oldest grandchild is now a college freshman (!) at George Fox University.

--Rain on the roof at night: One of my favorite songs, and part of an Oregon March.

--Flowers on the maple tree: Yes, spring is here. Mixed in with the lovely rainy days, the sun appeared and promised more frequent visits in the near future. Daffodils also made similar promises, and hope is in the air.

--Listening to my husband play his French horn in a duet with grandson Reilly on his cello, and recognizing it as real music.

--Poems, and a writers' group to read them to: Once a month I meet with a group of other Quaker writers. We report any progress (or lack thereof) during the last month, read any new stuff, laugh a lot and leave the meeting encouraged. It’s a grace-filled highlight of my month.

--Meeting for clearness: I love this Quaker custom, and availed myself of it this month. Six Friends gathered with me around a major decision I’m having to make. It was good to be held up in the light by people I consider wise, to be silent, listen and talk together. And yes, God spoke.

--An icon for Quaker worship: How unquakerly! But how Christian. Last year I brought home this replica of a large mosaic of Jesus from the Hagia Sophia in Istanbul. I love the tender expression on the face of Jesus. I love learning from other traditions. I know Jesus is more than any image, but this simple icon helps me sense certain truths that I’m learning as I walk with the living Lord. It’s a small grace I accept with gratitude (needing all the help I can get).

Preparing for Canonization

If someday, long after my death,
the church were to declare me a saint,
I want to be known as
Our Lady of Perpetual Astonishment.
Even now, I practice.
Consider……
   -    Lying in bed, I listen to the maple tree argue
        the wind, struggle to stay awake, don’t want
        to miss any of it.
   -    When I gather stones on the beach, I hear them
       sing in the palm of my hand
   -    I lick the salty tears from your face,
       savor your sorrow.
   -    A walk in the woods; light swims through the firs,
       flips the shadows, shakes my bones.
Like Moses, I approach
the thick darkness where God is,
groping, breathless, ready. 

The lament of a failed contemplative

Despite my earnest desire to enter into the contemplative experience—to lose myself in the presence of God—I just can’t seem to get it right. I suspect that I am spiritually ADHD (attention deficiency mixed with hyperactivity), although to many people I appear calm and even wise on the outside.

It’s not that I haven’t tried. I’ve been trying for years, doing the breathing exercises, choosing and saying a “prayer word” (which is never “om”), arranging the atmosphere, lighting the candle, etc. And sometimes it does, indeed, work. Sometimes, many times actually, I sense the sweet presence of Jesus, to the point of tears and shivers. But it only lasts for a short time, and I’m talking seconds, not even minutes.

Recently I had a conversation with three good friends about Quaker mysticism, and I claimed to be one. A Quaker mystic. My friends wisely observed that I probably wasn’t, at least not yet. The more I think back on that conversation, the more I think they’re possibly right. Although I still wrestle with the question of just what, exactly, is a Quaker mystic. So much hinges on definitions.

At any rate I’ve recently read two more books on how to do it. The authors encouraged me to keep on keeping on, as the cliché goes, and I recommend them to whoever else out there desires to be a contemplative, Quaker or otherwise. The first book is God of Intimacy and Action: Reconnecting Ancient Spiritual Practices, Evangelism, and Justice by Tony Campolo and Mary Albert Darling. What I appreciate about this book is that it integrates, as the title suggests, the desire for contemplative prayer, the longing to lead other people to Jesus, and the passion to be active in social justice issues. Too often in our churches people gravitate to one of the three emphases, to the neglect of the others. We Quakers do that well. The authors give practical suggestions as well as examples to flesh out their wonderfully holistic vision of the Christian life.

The second book, by my friend (also Friend) Richard Foster, certainly encourages me and gives me hope that if I continue to show up, God will meet me. I intend to re-read Sanctuary of the Soul: Journey into Meditative Prayer. In fact, I intend to re-read both books, for while I found them both helpful and encouraging, I still haven’t got it right.

The other morning, I was lamenting my failure and nibbling on sunflower seeds, when I saw a connection. (That’s one thing I am good at—seeing connections, sometimes to the point of the ridiculous.) So I wrote this little poem. And felt better. Humor always helps.

Confession of a Failed Contemplative

Contemplative prayer is a lot like
snacking on sunflower seeds.
You just know something good
is waiting for you. That tangy taste
that teases the tongue tells you
a treat is in store if you only
keep probing. So you bite it in half,
suck the salt from the shells,
nibble the seed, small but savory,
then wonder if that’s
all there is.

A twist on the idea of separation of church and state

Actually, there is no separation of church and state in Bolivia. For as long as we’ve been involved in this delightful country, the church, in all its manifestations, has fallen under the Ministry of Culto, part of the President’s Cabinet. Culto refers to (and here I translate from the authoratative Larouse Dictionary of the Spanish Language) “reverent homage that human beings attribute to the divine; the acts and ceremonies with which this tribute is rendered; the administration of the above.” Subsumed under the Ministry of Culto are religion, cultural events and sports. You can see the connection. Deep reverence ties the three together as they bow the knee before Caesar.

But this very year a change has been instituted into the political system. A newly created Ministry of Sports has arisen, with its own Minister and body of governing policies. So instead of separation of church and state, we now have the separation of church and soccer.

Several years ago, I read an article on the front page of the sports section of a Bolivian newspaper. The was the Saturday before Easter Sunday, and the key Bolivian and Argentinian soccer teams were playing a World Cup elimination game in Santa Cruz. The Archbishop was invited to pray for the team, and the headline of the article read: “A Tiny Helping-Hand from God: The Bolivian Soccer Teams Asks a Blessing.” I poetically paraphrased this prayer.

GOD’S TINY HAND
(The Bolivian Soccer Team Asks a Blessing)

Our Father Which Art
in Heaven, on earth, and most especially in Bolivia,
hallowed and hollered be your name.
We, who bow to no one,
bend our heads in devotion to seek your blessing
this Holy Week.  We remember
your death, and plead that it not be in vain,
plead that you remember our Life and let
us win tomorrow’s game.
Resurrect our hopes to place.
Let next year’s Cup not pass from us.
Bless our kicks, our passes, our
blocks and our sprints.  Let us score
against the enemy, whose name is
Argentina.  Reward our faith.
Grant peace to our land and goals to our team.
Give us just a tiny helping Hand,
and we will inscribe your name
forever in our hearts
and on our trophies.
Amen.

Prayerless among the branches

 

My imagination, unruly gift,

comes, I suppose, from God.

(I call her Agnes, to satisfy

my primal need to name the animals.)

She squirrels about in the maple tree

just outside my kitchen window,

flits from branch to branch,

only sits a few seconds to chomp

on some savory something,

then with a flounce, flies off again.

Sometimes she chases another squirrel

(let’s call him Fred) who mysteriously

keeps hanging around, perpetual tease,

never letting himself be captured,

but not wandering too far away.

Why can’t Agnes just sit quietly

in her lovely bower, feel the wind

ruffling her fur, give herself

over to prayer? In such a green and gracious

space, shouldn’t prayer be natural?

The view from our Hobbit Hole

Geography and place play an important role in our spirituality. The theologies of creation and incarnation tell us that God expresses his grace and goodness in the ground we walk on, the oranges and broccoli we eat, and the flesh and blood people we love.

The houses or rooms we live in are also expressions of spirituality. I frequently have dreams of houses when I’m entering a new ministry, relationship or phase of life. An important part of these house dreams has to do with light and windows and the view. In “real life,” I like to go through new (or old) houses and imagine what it would be like living there. And one of the first things I look for is the view. Can I see trees from the windows? How much light comes in? One of my favorite book titles is A Room with a View. That’s what I want. Always. That’s what feeds my spirit—beauty and light and trees.

These last few years on our trips to La Paz, we’ve stayed in budget hotels near the Friends Church on Max Paredes Street. Some of our rooms have overlooked sections of the city, always impressive. But even though these rooms are economical, according to USA standards, they have slowly been draining our resources. Our Bolivian colleagues realize this, so they’ve recently made an effort to prepare a small apartment for us here on the church property. We made our contribution, and on Saturday morning we moved in. We’re still in the fixing up stage and, quite frankly, having a lot of fun. We feel a bit like newly weds, acquiring the basics in bedding, towels, kitchen stuff. We also feel like jugglers in a circus, trying to keep in the air the balls of simplicity, comfort and economy.

The space is small, the décor Spartan. Originally planned to be used for hospitality, carpenters have put in wooden panels to divide the one room into a study area, a bedroom and a kitchen, with a small bathroom (where everything works!). The kitchen has only a counter and a sink. We added a double-burner hot plate; maybe next year we’ll put in a small refrigerator. And maybe we won’t. The bathroom is closet-sized, with the electric shower head in the middle of the ceiling. When we shower, everything gets wet. We have to come out into the kitchen to dry off and get dressed. But, like I said, everything works.

We first named our new home, “The Cave,” which gives an idea of what it’s like. Connected to the second floor of the old mission house, it’s tucked in a walkway between the church and the Friends school, surrounded by concrete and tall buildings. I’m trying to add the word “cozy” to the descriptors “small, dark and cold.” To facilitate our positive attitude, we’ve changed the name from “The Cave” to “The Hobbit Hole.”

But the thing is—the window. It’s large and opens into the study and the bedroom. That’s good. However, the view is of the brick wall four feet away. That’s not so good. And at no point during the day does any sun enter our Hobbit Hole. So.

So, what do I do with that? I accept this as a challenge. If my spirituality runs deeper than the view out my window and the sunshine on my face, this is the time to prove it. I’ve chosen “glory” as my theme this year. “Glory” signifies many things, among these—beauty, splendor, recognition, honor, light. All the things that touch my spirit when I imagine a sunny room with a view can be summed up in the word, “glory.” That’s what I really long for.

So, I read that “Christ in me is my hope of glory.” I read that “You, O Lord, are a shield to me. You’re my glory and the lifter of my head.” And more, so much more. Yes.

So, in the early morning, I come into the study, cup of steaming coffee in hand, wrap myself in a wool blanket, sit in front of the small space heater, close my eyes, and give myself time to enter into the Presence. And soon I begin to sense it. The glory. It’s here. It’s Him.

I can’t begin to describe for you the beauty of the view from this place.

 

Welcome to the Hobbit Hole!

 

Living room/study

A place to sleep

A place to prepare simple meals

The view!