Category Archives: niggling quandaries

those mind-worms that eat my mind and sometimes feed my soul

rabbit trails

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rabbitI am having so much trouble centering in today.
I’m following every rabbit-trail my mind offers up.
No wonder I’m jumpy.

Maybe I should just become that rabbit
Follow the grassy trail before me
Stop to nibble on the tips of grass
Think rabbit-y thoughts

What are those like?
What are the thoughts of a squirrel? Dog! (?)

So, here I go, down that rabbit-trail
And here’s the mystery:
You are there, too.
Ponderous, deep, theology is not necessary.
A simple, grateful, receptive heart is quite enough.

That is where I am today.
I nibble the grass.
I feel the shadow of a passing cloud.
I manage to notice the simple joys around me for just a moment.
And I find a new way into the center.

Thank you. Again. Anew. Thank you.
[image cropped from photo by Eden per cc 2.0]

could it be true?

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cowering formCould it be true
That the deep design of the world
Depends upon the kind of love
That gives itself to others?

Could it be true
That your example
Is the sustainable pattern for happiness?
That giving is the secret?

Could it be true
That the broader the circle of kindness,
The more open my heart and my hands,
The deeper my joy?

That grasping, holding, hiding
Are the soul-shrinking reactions of fear?
That your message, to ‘Fear not’
Is not simply a comfort, but a command?

Could it be true
That your wish for the world;
That your wish for me;
Is to trust enough to be open to love?

Isn’t that too risky?
What if I open my heart and get hurt?
It has happened before, you know.
What if this is just a sucker’s ploy?

I think I’d rather protect myself.
I think I’d rather pull in and depend on myself.
I think I’d rather keep what I have …
Until I realize that would never be enough.

The only way to relationship
Is to take the risk, and open my heart.
By myself, even with all my stuff,
I will not find true life.

Could it be true
That the deep design of the world
Depends upon the kind of love
That gives itself to others?

[photo byJoe Benjamin  per cc 2.0]

After vacation

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backpackI’m trying to get my head to reactivate after vacation.
Nice that it turned off …
Now … how to turn it on?

That’s always the fear –
That if I put something down,
I’ll lose the capacity to pick it up –
Or I’ll lose it altogether.

Yet, like a backpack,
You can’t carry it forever.
Sometimes you gotta stop for a while.
Sometimes you need a rest.

And when the rest is over
You must pick it up again.
It’s the hardest part of the journey.
Always a bit awkward.

So, Holy One …
Are you there?
Where am I?
Touch my soul awake.

At last, I find your smile.
Like a Cheshire cat, I see that first.
Hovering in my imagination.
Eliciting my smile in return.

I lean my heart back into your presence
And find the echo of peace
That waits there for me
Hovering at the edge of possibility.

And, at last,
Sinking back into your yes
I find myself, again.
Thank you.

[photo by Ville Koivisto per cc 2.0]

Striving to be non-mean

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anger's angst

One of my distinctions in religion is not liberal and conservative, but mean and non-mean. – Martin Marty

When someone is mean to you, it is way too easy to get locked into their mode of exchange – trading barb for barb. This is a particularly potent temptation in politics and religion, where the stakes seem so high. We shout at each other from different islands, each sure of our own stand and disparaging of the other.

George Lakoff and Mark Johnson tell us that we are stuck in this frame, in part, because of the metaphors we use. We think of an argument as a form of war – where we parry and thrust and go in for the kill. Even the title to this post is just a shade away from ‘strife.’ In war, it is win or lose, and the cost of losing is your life – or at least your way of life. Lakoff and Johnson wonder what it might be like if, instead, we thought of argument as form of dance.

And Julia Cameron suggests that anger is a signal that someone has crossed your boundaries. It provides a map to our psychological ‘safe space’ and tells us when its threatened. When someone makes us angry, they have crossed a line. When we see someone who is angry – they have revealed a bit of the map of their lives.

I wonder, with Martin Marty, what it might be like if we could approach our disagreements as a opportunity to deepen understanding. What if we treated our arguments as research – an adventure into the unknown?

What if we could learn to be non-mean in the face of disagreement? What if we could learn to dance? We seem so far from that today. Could you possibly start the music for me and show me a few steps?

[photo by Jake Miller per cc 2.0]

 

prayer’s quandary

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prayerHow is it that I imagine
(Though it seems I often do)
That I could ever out-love God?

Somehow I think that I must remind God
To pay attention to those I love
And respond in the ways I would direct.

I hang on to those urgent, begging prayers
As if they are lifelines
As if their path is the only one worth walking.

And in that clinging urgency, I lose the opportunity
To join the deeper, fuller love that God
Is always, already, pouring forth.

When will I learn that true prayer
Is the place where I find God’s love welling up within me
And where I send it forth into the world?

Prayer stitches my soul into the fabric of life as it is
Adding one more fiber to the tapestry of love that God is weaving
And learning to rejoice as it unfolds.

[photo by Via Tsuji per cc 2.0]

lists

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checklistThere is a list of things I must do.
Then there is a list of things I should do.
And a list of things that it would be good to do.
And even things I’d like to do.

But contemplation does not work so well with lists.
Lists are handles – so I do not let things drop.
Contemplation is about letting go.

Something in me is afraid to just let go.
What if I forget? What if I neglect? What if …
What if I disappear?
What if, without my tasks, there is no need for me?

I find, at last, a momentary pause within my soul.
I slip into that corner and hunker down upon a small stool
I pull a sheet over my head to hide myself from my lists.

And here, fidgeting, fretting restlessly, I try to wait.
I breathe. I count. I try to still my soul.
It’s not working very well.
In my mind’s eye I lean my head back into your chest.
And whisper, ‘help.’
It’s not a loud, or insistent, or confident whisper –
It’s more like a whine than a plea.

I don’t expect an answer.
I’m not even sure I want one.
But – I realize this with a bit of a start –
My head is resting upon your chest.
My hope is resting upon your presence.
Which means, of course, that you are here.
You are here. I am here.

That’s a beginning.
Actually, that’s a completion.
Daily moment of contemplation … check.
What’s next on my list?

AAAUGH!

The only thing that makes me smile at the end of all this
is your chuckle in my ear.

[photo by Wendy House per cc 2.0]

Hope Stew

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image of blessing baby

Simeon … was righteous and devout, looking forward to the consolation of Israel, and the Holy Spirit rested on him – Luke 2:25

Hope Stew –

  • Take 4 parts of deep devotion
  • Pour it into a base of quiet, faithful prayer
  • Stir in a heart that eagerly listens for the smallest urging
  • And, when the moment is right, add the confirmation of the spirit.

Yield –

  • A patient impatience that will sustain
  • A clear confirmation of God’s presence, revealed in the sleeping form of
    an infant resting in the arms of his mother;
    an infant whose father hovers close by
    an infant whose very presence brings the promise and gift of peace.

Me … I read the newspapers and let their false prophecies invade my soul with despair. Too easily I abandon the hope that it would take to recognize the spirit’s work and hear the whisper of promise. Without hope, my hands lie fallow, my heart sinks low.

It is my own recipe for inaction.

Forgive me, Holy One.
Wake my soul.
Bring your peace – to me and to the world.
May we trust your prophecies, rather than all the voices of manipulative fear.
Let us not lose hope.

[photo edited from ‘Grandma’s Touch‘ by Kolby per cc 2.0]
[This meditation was sparked in response to ‘Day 2’ in Forty Days with the Holy Spirit: Fresh Air for Every Day by Jack Levison.]

See also: Anna’s Blessing

the way out of quandary

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clearing the fog

Do you every find yourself wishing, hoping, praying
That you could figure out just what you should do
With this one precious life you have been given?

Do you ever, like me, feel as if you are lost in a fog,
Discouraged and distracted because you cannot see the next step?

You wonder what you should do.
You look for a path, or for a project.
But the fog clouds your vision and your heart.
And so, you stop and sigh,
And you take in a deep breath, preparing for another sigh.

And, surprisingly that intake of breath is an intake of hope.
You find within your lungs, the fresh whisper of God’s spirit.
You hold it within you for a moment,
And then you breathe it out into the fog.
And pause to see what it might do.

And for several moments you continue that cycle, over and over –
Breathe in the hope
Hold the wonder
Breathe out a blessing
Rejoice in its grace.

Breathe in the hope
Hold the wonder
Breathe out a blessing
Rejoice in its grace.

Breathe in the hope
Hold the wonder
Breathe out a blessing
Rejoice in its grace.

It becomes a wordless prayer.
Repeated with growing joy
Which takes root quietly within your soul
And lifts the fog, just a bit.

Breathe in the hope
Hold the wonder
Breathe out a blessing
Rejoice in its grace.

As the wisps of fog begin to clear
Within your heart
You find, to your surprise,
That there are, indeed, things you know to do.
They are not grand projects or torturous paths to take.
They are kindnesses offered and small tasks accomplished.
They lighten the load for those nearby.

There may be big things for another day.
But today, today, is well spent in kindness.
Those small things that come your way
Are bigger than you think.
And can help to clear the fog.

Today I breath.
I take in your hope
And hold it quietly within my soul.
I breathe out your blessing
And let it do its work.

I think, for just a moment,
That I have found what I should do
With this one day I have been given.

And I smile.
We smile.

Thank you.
Amen.

[image by Jan per cc 2.0]

Rainsoaked

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rain soaked
The coat my consciousness wears in the rain
Is not really waterproof.
It catches the drops and holds them,
Growing darker,
Melding the edges of what I think I know
With a commentary that can enrich or destroy.

Sometimes the rain beats hard,
Sending pellets of ice into my heart,
Telling me that my words take up more room
Than they deserve.

And I believe it.
In fact, it is often my own thoughts that bring the rain.

The wisdom to know when –
When to amend
And when to keep to my own messy vision –
That wisdom often evades me
And I am left with a simple choice:
Say it anyway or keep quiet.

To say it anyway exposes me to the rain.
It demands that I dance within the storm.
It offers to cleanse me
But the scrubbing often hurts.
And parts of what I say will – should – wash away.
Leaving a fresher insight than before.
That which remains is strengthened.

It may even be that I don’t know what I’ve said
Until it rains.

I look up.
The rain is mixed with tears on my upturned face.
And I reach for my words, once more.
It is all that I can do.

[photo by Special per cc 2.0]

Tthanks to Maria Popova and Anne Lamott for the seeds of this reflection, here.]

Are there two Christianities?

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twoYeah, I know there are lots of denominations … and non-denominations. I know that everyone of us holds life with different hands. But it seems to me, of late, that there are two main branches. One is worried about the sorry state of our souls and the world at large. One sees beauty and the imprint of grace in each encounter. One sees the foundational story of the world as ‘the fall.’ One looks a bit earlier to ‘God saw that it was good.’

My soul has gravitated … or perhaps fled … to the hope of beauty. It has fled to the assurance of God’s creative love, to a redemption that does not deny that things can get ugly – but knows that everything, everything can be turned to good – that ‘all things’ can be turned to work in that direction. In fact, that all things are in the hands of one who can do – is doing – that turning. That ‘all manner of things will be well.’

Is it my own state of privilege that allows me the luxury of that view? Is it that I have not suffered the abuse that makes the ugly so evident? Is it that I have not borne the scars of hate upon my soul?

The thing that mitigates against the conclusion that this hope is a privileged mirage – is the cross. There is no travesty that can keep God’s love at bay. God loves the world that murdered the son. The son promised immediate paradise to the one who hung beside him – and prayed forgiveness to those who drove the nails.

There are some basics, here – faith, hope and love – these three.

The basics do not include guilt or fear. In fact, the trio, above, works to mitigate the fears that would hold me captive. Perfect love, you know, casts out fear. Faith is counted as righteousness.  Hope does not disappoint.

The starting point of my faith is not ‘all have sinned,’ as true as that may be. Instead my faith is born in ‘nothing can separate us.’

[photo by Rev Stan per cc 2.0]