St. Benedict on Stability

Tonight... was a challenge. Not the "I see you are out of shape, I challenge you to a game of basketball", nor the "I challenge you to keep silence for 40 days"... but more so the, "I can see into your heart and if you don't want to talk to me, than at least sit there and listen to what I have to say" challenge.

Perhaps it was because I was tired after a week in which two massive midterms were written and a term paper submitted, or perhaps it was because the antibiotics for a sinus infection have finally started to kick in, but I cannot help but feel... slightly overwhelmed. There was an additional cleric visiting the WR this evening, one of incredible wisdom and lived experience; the topic was stability and the effect was profound. She spoke about the meaning of spirituality and how Benedict gives one expression of it. She spoke about well-versed authors and finely written pieces of work. And although I dare not comment on the entirety of her message this evening, there is one subsection of that message that I shall continue to ponder into the wee hours of the morning.

"Get in your cell and stay there... stability is to stay put... stability is to prevent self deception. For only when we stay in one place long after our community can see what we choose to ignore about ourselves and confront us, can we truly experience the grace of God."

I understand very little of this and unfortunately, the more I try and think through it as it pertains to my life in the here and now, the more confused I get. I do not understand where I went wrong... was it when I first left the birth church? Was it leaving the seminary community? Leaving one parish to join another for health/personal/job reasons? What is my cell? Do I need to go back to one of these two church communities to work through this desert with God/belief/trust/fear or can I work these out and then seek peace and reconciliation?

My heart longs to be with my cassock sister, laying on the grass in a long, black robe on the lawns of the Diocesan supported seminary as we read and tried to grapple with the depth of such writings as Benedict and his rule and the always lovely Desert Fathers. For everything that we read made life seem simple and genuine while making faith seem personal and constant. I am learning that this is not the case and more often than not, one's heart is conflicted with one's intelligence.

I have a sinking feeling that the work I started this Ash Wednesday will work on preparing me for the following Easter - like Easter of 2011. In the meantime, I shall continue to read "Girl Meets God" as recommended by UC and maybe pull out the books from the Desert Fathers for a read through. And, as hard as it may be, trust that this darkness too, will end and the questions will resolve.

The Little Anglican Piggy

No, I did not over eat the Eucharist tonight and I certainly did not eat too many egg-less pancakes last night, but rather, I feel like the little Anglican piggy who cried all the way home. You know that childhood poem where your Grandma grabs each one of your toes in turn and says, "this little piggy went to market, this little piggy stayed home; this little piggy ate roast beef while this little piggy had none... and this little piggy, cried all the way home"? While I am not sure who the other four Anglican piggies are in this life-sized scenario, I am certain that I am that last little piggy.

I intentionally waited out in the car until 3 minutes before the service; figured that this would save me from talking to anyone, or worse, seeing someone I knew and bolting. It's not that I want to play hide and go seek with the familiar faces, but after having gone through everything that I have, I don't want my journey to be a public thing. Not yet, anyway. So, having chosen a church in which there is a "university students worship" and a rector that came to the Diocese after I left, I thought I was ready to embark upon a deliberate journey back into good standing with the church - whatever that looks like. No one would be watching me with thoughts of, "wasn't she in seminary" or "she worked at the Synod Office" or anything else... it would be a journey that at first, could be just about God and I.

While I will refrain from commenting on the one or two familiar faces that were present, let me simply say this: the Holy Spirit was wholly, incredibly, and most definitely present.

Although there were tears shed here and there prior to her sermon, they were negligible compared to those that were on the way. The metaphor that University-Chaplain used was that of a palm cross that hung in her front entryway of her house. She spoke of how that little palm cross witnessed her coming in from the world, carrying anger, hurt, resentment, ..... and that same palm cross had seen her enter the world each day with pride, jealousy, ..... and now, tonight, that palm cross was burnt. The last year of wrong doings was forgotten and forgiven, by a Father who wished to create a clean heart in each one of us there. She referenced the movie, "The Bucket List" (which I have yet to see) and how Jack Nickelson realized before it was too late that he had relationships to mend and forgiveness to seek.

And, silently, inside my head (and my heart), I began to shout, "please stop U-C, please stop U-C, please stop U-C" (although I did not say University Chaplain, but rather her name). It was a sermon that my intellect most certainly needed to hear, but my heart felt as though it was slowly being ripped into tiny. little. pieces. It's not necessarily a bad thing - just an incredibly challenging thing.

The sermon was followed by the commonly sung hymn, "Take my Life" - one that holds a lot of personal meaning and has an incredible story and place thus far in my journey - tonight, being no exception.

I think I anticipated going to this service as a mere "next step" - thinking that it would be as easy and jovial as the movie night a week ago. I seemed to have forgotten what this day and this night are really all about. I thought that attending this service would be like playing music at the church on the hill in which I could sit there, completely disengaged from what was being said, and being done.

I think I forgot how much my heart truly felt at home in that Eucharist, that place of worship, that place of holiness, in which the presence of God and the words of the Holy Spirit and the elements of the Son come together in the most perfect song of harmony that could ever fill one's soul.

And so, all throughout the Eucharist, and allllll the way home (about a 45 minute drive), I cried.

I cried a tear for the time I've stayed away because of anger, hurt, and guilt

I cried a tear for the people I have hurt and the way in which I have hurt them

I cried a tear for the life that I left more than a year ago

I cried a tear for the people who believed just as strongly as I did, that I had a call to serve the church

I cried a tear for the desert in which I stand, not sure where to go or how to get there

I cried a tear for the relationships I have broken, the trust I have stolen, and the pain I have

caused

I cried a tear for the one who saw my burdens the moment she met me, but was denied access to my truckwagon because I did not want it unloaded by a stranger

I cried a tear for the way in which I have closed my life off to those who want to see my light shine

I cried a tear for the many experiences that will be no more

I cried a tear in fear of those that still lay ahead

I cried a tear for the pain that was caused by another's words, and the impact it has on my life

I cried a tear in disbelief at the words of the sermon that my heart simply cannot believe in

I cried a tear at how much my palm cross has seen

I cried a tear in stillness and surrender - in awe of how very articulate the experience of returning home can be and how incredibly powerful it is when the spoken word resonates with the sung word to give the reassurance that this lost sheep *will* be found.

Feast of the Ascension

Yesterday, by my calendar, marked the Feast of the Ascension (which in most churches, will be carried forward to this coming Sunday). While I have made the choice to work on Sunday in a job that is 100% secularized and removed from any thought of Christianity, this doesn't keep me from quietly marking this feast day with a day of reflection and introspection.

I was raised with the teaching that the Feast of the Ascension is an important feast for two reasons:
1) It is a pivotal point in Christian belief and doctrine that Christ rose from the dead, ascended into heaven and sits on the right hand of the Father. To not believe this would probably be heresy!
2) That Ascension is always a "forward-looking" feast. Unlike a lot of the other feast days within the Christian Church that mark a memorable occasion or individual, Ascension marks the beginning of the first novena for Pentecost. Just as Christ prayed for the Holy Spirit to descend upon the apostles, we too pray, that the Holy Spirit may enter every avenue of our lives, guide our steps, and transform our very being.

And it is this latter reason that has really got me thinking.

A few weeks ago, I was asked to play music for a Confirmation Mass in which 50 some grade six students were confirmed in the Roman rite. The Archdiocesan bishop was unable to attend, so Bishop-Emeritus of a Northern most Diocese who was passing through town took the service. A French Missionary Bishop, +C. For some reason, I cannot get his sermon out of my mind... and it is this sermon, that has been the starting point of reflection in the days leading up to Pentecost.

He started by reminding the confirmands that there is one, single, unforgivable sin: a sin against the Holy Spirit. (Theological training has taught me that "a sin against the Holy Spirit" is any sin which ultimately denies the presence or work of the Spirit in one's life...) He then proceeded to explain what the Holy Spirit was. To do this, he told a story.

"Imagine with me for a moment. It is summer time and your parents are sooo delighted that you made the choice to be confirmed in the faith, that they tell you they have a special vacation planned for you and your family. You are all going to drive to Vancouver for a week. You've never been to Vancouver and so you are very excited to go. Now, as you are driving, you have to go through the Rocky Mountains. And while you are driving along the road, your sister points out her window and says, 'I see a moose, waaaaaaaay up on the mountain'. The whole family strain to look out that side of the car and people say, 'oh yea... there is something up there!'. You remember that you packed a pair of binoculars, so you pull them out of your bag and look up to the top of the mountain. And there you see, a mother bear and her two young cubs. Excited to share this beautiful sight with your family, you pass around the binoculars. At that moment in time, the Holy Spirit is a pair of binoculars. You see, the Holy Spirit will come into your life in times where things are blurry and will provide clarity. And I promise you, the Holy Spirit will allow you to see the most beautiful sights, just like the binoculars will allow you to see a mother bear and her cubs.

Now driving a little further, it is a lovely sunny day, and Mom says, 'I packed a picnic lunch for everyone, let's have a picnic!' Finding a nice little park in the mountains, a blanket is pulled out and a wonderful lunch for everyone. But in the excitement to leave, no one packed utensils. All of a sudden, you remember that you packed your Swiss-army knife. Pulling it out, you use the fork for a bit and then pass it on so that others can eat and when it comes back to you, you change it to the spoon, have a few bites, and pass it around again for others to use. In fact, when it comes time to open the pretend bubbly, your knife even has a corkscrew. In this moment, the Holy Spirit is a Swiss-army knife. The Holy Spirit will equip you and enable you with tools and gifts to be shared with others. The Holy Spirit is a gift and begs to be shared.

After lunch, you are driving further into the mountains and as the day gets later into the afternoon, the sun is getting lower and lower. Soon, Dad says, 'I think we may need to stop for the day. The sun is blinding me and I can't see the road and we might go off the road or hit an animal. It's too dangerous!' Taking your handy sunglasses off your head, you pass them up to the front seat for Dad. At this moment, the Holy Spirit is a pair of sunglasses. Sometimes in life, danger will be looming right around the corner. Temptations will be glaring and blinding, but the Holy Spirit will be there to once again make your navigating safe and remove the blinding ability of temptation and sin, doing it's best to keep you on the straight and narrow to your destination.

Once you finally get into Vancouver, you decide that it's time to tour around and see all the magnificant sights. There is the park, the aquarium, the ocean... so many things to do, and so little time. What to do and where to go? Not wanting to waste too much time driving around on busy streets and getting lost, Dad runs out to the gas station on the corner and returns with a city map. At this moment, the Holy Spirit is a map of Vancouver city. The Holy Spirit will guide you through unknown territory with incredible precision and grace. It will guide you where to turn and how to not get lost along the way to the final resting place we are all headed to. The Holy Spirit, unlike our own desires, will never lead you astray..."

This was the basic summary of his sermon and from here, he explained to the students that Confirmation was the receiving of this Holy Spirit into their lives and journeys. Truly one of the most incredible Confirmation sermons I have ever heard... and more importantly, one of the first sermons I have actually listened to since early October.

It may seem like a simple, assumed fact to most - that Holy Spirit is all of this and more, but when you are driving along, take a wrong turn (followed by a long series of wrong turns trying to once again find your way), get utterly and completely lost... when the sun is shining and you are blinded from reading the roadsigns that you whiz by, and now have no idea where you are, how you got there, or how to even start getting back... the sermon is a kick in the teeth.

I get it. I'm not stupid. The Holy Spirit is the Robe of Righteousness that we are given when we enter the banquet hall for the feast. The Holy Spirit is that tiny voice inside your heart that leaps for joy when God is recognized in a spring rain, a field of sprouting crop, or in the voice of a friend, calling to say hello.

But what I don't get, is how I can possibly be standing in that group of disciples 9 days from today, to be showered and empowered with the Holy Spirit. I want to see the bear with her cubs, to pass the knife around the picnic, to not be blinded, and to have a map to guide me back to the place I made the wrong turn so I can be guided through life on the right path once again.

Maybe 8 more days of reflection might tell me how?

Tis an odd feeling

Of all the things to ponder on one's birthday, each year as the day approaches, I think back to the day I was born and the meaning that has held over all these years.  

Good Friday.  

There are years in which I find this piece of personal history smile-evoking.  These are the years in which I find myself thanking God for his backdoor sense of humor.  There is nothing like a stuck, horrendously Conservative and (big T) traditional Roman Catholic family to have their first born enter the world on Good Friday.  My ultra-Catholic Grandmother still refused to celebrate the birthday a few years ago when the day of celebration fell on the dark Friday.  

AND, then there are the years that I find it myself searching diligently for a deeper, more profound reason and come up with nothing more than it was just a normal Friday in the month of April.  

But this year, as the birthday falls on a different church feast day, tis truly an odd feeling.  Maybe it's the fact that I haven't been spiritually home since relocating late in December or perhaps it's that I am putting too many expectations on myself.  This year, the Passion is not just a story acted out, but an incredibly tangible reality - valid and human expression of what our Christian life really is.  

In years past, I've been on every side of the story - I have acted the part of the first and second criminal, Pilot, the guards, the crowd, the complementary music, and even the composition side of youth dramatizations.  The difference this year is that I don't yet know the part I am supposed to play.  

I don't know how to describe the feeling other than to sum it up as... "odd"... 

Maybe this year... is the year that I am simply supposed to "be".  Perhaps I am called to simply take a front row seat and absorb.  I guess I'll let ya know when I know!

Makes you wonder...

I have just returned, through white-out conditions (15cm tonight and more expected tomorrow!!) from a service.  Held in a most glorious church in what appears to be an Italian populated neighbourhood, I prepared myself before going in - but apparently not enough.  

The service was held in a tradition and "box" of Christianity in which I was born and raised.  However, in pursuing where I felt called to journey, after a series of discussions and moments of unpleasantness, I am no longer in good standing with the church.  It wasn't that I broke any of the rules, per say, but was told in a rather direct fashion that if I ever wished to receive Eucharist again within the bounds of The Church, it would require a serious confession and subsequent penance. 

And, it's also not true that I am "returning home" to The Church (though it would cause my family to throw a party), I needed to retreat.  Jesus set a wonderful example all through his ministry in which "big" moments were preceded by the removal of oneself from the "frontline", most often retreating to a mountainside, desert, or garden to just "be" in the presence of the Alpha and the Omega, the Almighty.  

This parish had the afternoon set aside, as they do every Tuesday, for Adoration of the Blessed Sacrament.  (In non-church speak, read: this big, brick building with pretty pictures and large decorations had reserved a time for meager street folk to sit in lots of mysterious smoke (helps remain anonymous) with your very best friend).  Who wouldn't want to spend just a little bit in that?  

Anyway, the time of adoration was followed by a "meal", supposedly shared among all the friends of your very best friend.  The opening hymn to gather all together was "Praise to the Lord the Almighty".  I was shocked to sing the second verse: "Praise to the Lord, let us offer our gifts at the altar.  Let not our sins and offenses cause us to falter.  Christ the High Priest, bids us all join in his feast..."

Isn't that bizarre?  This small representative sample of disciples can sing loud and clear, "Christ the High Priest, bids us all join in his feast" and yet - when push comes to shove, these same disciples are standing guard around the altar and pointing at who is not included (by Christ's command) at this feast.  Can they do that?  Obviously they can.  For if you don't belong, haven't been baptized in This Church, you are one among the unwelcome.  

Makes me say, Thanks be the God! that I'm Anglican and damn blessed to be so; an expression of discipleship in which all baptized Christians are welcome at this table.