Exile

richardson-exile-from-iran-on-the-beaches-of-australia

 

Exile
 On reading 1 & 2 Kings

Like the ancients, we know about ashes,
and smoldering ruins,
and collapse of dreams,
and loss of treasure,
and failed faith,
and dislocation,
and anxiety, and anger, and self-pity.
For we have watched the certitudes and
entitlements
of our world evaporate.

Like the ancients, we are a
mix of perpetrators,
knowing that we have brought this on
ourselves, and a
mix of victims,
assaulted by others who rage against us.

Like the ancients, we weep in honesty
at a world lost
and the dread silence of your absence.
We know and keep busy in denial,
but we know.

Like the ancients, we refuse the ashes,
and watch for newness.
Like them, we ask,
“Can these bones live?”

Like the ancients, we ask,
“Is the hand of the Lord shortened,
that the Lord cannot save?”

Like the ancients, we ask,
“Will you at this time restore what was?”

And then we wait:
We wait through the crackling of fire,
and the smash of buildings,
and the mounting body count,
and the failed fabrice of
medicine and justice and education.
We wait in a land of strangeness,
but there we sing, songs of sadness,
songs of absence,
belatedly songs of praise,
acts of hope,
gestures of Easter,
gifts you have yet to give.

by Walter Brueggemann
from Prayers for a Privileged People, Nashville: Abingdon Press, 2008.

Pandemic Soul Care

Note: This blog on soul care was originally written by Tara in post election 2016. We all could surely use a reminder of how to care for ourselves in a deep and true way, once again. In difficult times, remember – be be gentle with you and with those around you. Error on the side of kindness. And if you need someone to walk with you – reach out to us. Any one of us would be honored to sit with you and hear your story.
– The Anam Cara Spiritual Directors

 

This morning, whether you are sitting in front of your computer waiting for that next Zoom meeting, trying wrangle three kiddos while making breakfast, or just simply lonely and alone, there are some practices, reminders, and gentle exhortations that are important to soul health after what I have sometimes termed as the “collective trauma” of this past year.

Get Outside

We have, in general, indoor minds. We lives inside of boxes, eat inside of boxes, and find our entertainment inside of boxes. Much of this past year was dominated by screens. Getting outside in God’s creation not only reminds us of cycles and seasons, but it removes the walls and ceilings around our souls, leading to a more expansive experience of the world, our God, and the Good News. It helps us gain God’s perspective and bring rest.

Getting outside brings our noisy, busy selves to a place of silence. Spend time in that silence and see how nature continues to sing to God. If you can, leave your technology and social media behind. Having an unmediated experience of the book of creation brings us back to God’s heart. It helps us to develop outdoor minds.

Lament (or Celebrate)

Lament is a legitimate response to world events, national events, local events, or personal events. Weeping and mourning, ashes and sackcloth, are Scriptural ways to react. Lament doesn’t begin with pointing the finger or denigration of the other, however, it starts with personal responsibility and sorrow. It starts with repentance, and it moves toward an understanding of larger themes and needs. Lament moves toward an understanding of God’s movement, care, and goodness in the world, most often through our own actions of care.

Celebration is a legitimate response to world events, national events, local events, or personal events. Singing and dancing, waving the flag of victory, and generally finding gladness in a hoped for result is a Scriptural way to react. Christian celebration, however, doesn’t involved denigration of those who are not celebrating, or stating superiority because of your glad news. Christian celebration invites all into the party—and acknowledges the pain, fear, and sadness of those who don’t want to respond.

Find Yourself In The Word

God’s story is always our story. If you feel disoriented, afraid, or unsure of what is to come, turn to the Word. In it,  you will find hope, guidance, and a sense of the future. In it, you will find conviction, questions, and an understanding of what your particular role and call is in bringing God’s light into the world. Read the story with fresh eyes. Ask questions of the text you never dared ask before—the Word is asking questions of you.

Spend Time With A Child

Spending time with a child is spending time with the future. Laugh and play. Cry when things are disappointing. Don’t hold grudges. Remember we are taken care of in the same way that children are (or should be) and that our God is a kind and responsible parent. We can ask for what we want without fear, just as a child is unashamedly needy. We can be afraid. We can be happy. We can be sad. Spending time with children isn’t about forgetting everything, but remembering that we, too, are dependent, needy, and loved.

Read Poetry

Poetry doesn’t lecture. It helps us to see, to question, and to awaken to beauty. As predictions are made, as dire things are said, as rhetoric is simplified into marketing, choose to read poetry (or listen to great music or view beautiful art). Let yourself be awakened to perspectives that aren’t your own, to see things you never saw before, and to be comforted by the reality that there are poets and prophets in the world who help us to see more clearly, to see as God sees, and to respond accordingly.

Do Something Creative

Create something—a cake, a painting, an essay, a lesson plan. Bring beauty into the world. This season has been divisive and, at times, downright nasty. Bring redemption into the world by creating something that wasn’t there before. It doesn’t have to be happy or sad or anything you feel it “should” be. Just create. Your soul will necessarily be turned toward the One who created you.

Speak The Psalms Aloud

The psalms are an important prayer book, not just something to be studied. Whether your soul needs reassurance, wrath, repentance, solace, or celebration, the psalms can be your prayers. The psalms give permission for a wide range of emotion and experience, and reading them aloud helps you to hear them twice—inside yourself and outside yourself as they are spoken into the world as living, active words. Not only that, but reading the psalms aloud changes and forms us, bringing us more fully into the heart of God and moving us toward the suffering and saving Christ. The psalms were His prayer book, too, and your voice and His will be in concert as you read them out loud.

Love Your Neighbor

There are people who are scared, angry, and upset. There are people who are hopeful, celebratory, and content. There are people with every emotion in between. Choose humility and engage in acts of love with your neighbor—literally first, with those who live on your street, on the same hall in your apartment building, in your dorms. If there are those who are hurting, bandage their wounds. If there are those who feel you inflicted the pain, listen to their hurt without defending yourself. Serve one another in ways larger and small. Bake cakes, rake lawns, start fundraising campaigns, help teach ESL classes, plant community gardens, play with children in the street, let other people go first in line, drive the speed limit, look at your servers (grocery stores, coffee shops, etc.) in the eyes. Give people dignity. The person looking at you—whoever they are—bears the image of God.

Remember That Good Takes a Long Time To Appear

In Genesis, the word for “good” is the Hebrew word tov. A dear rabbi friend of mine defines tov as the actualization of the potential for life embedded in the creation by God, when the creation brings it forth with the seeds of future life already in it. Good is when the fruit of a tree produces seeds that are planted in the ground and brings forth another tree with fruit and seeds in that fruit.

This means “good” in the Hebrew sense takes a long time to appear. Good may come of apparently bad circumstances. Bad can come of apparently good circumstances. We are the living tov of our grandparents. Our responsibility is to bring forth what God has placed inside of us, and to wait with God for that potential to produce the life that God has intended. This may take a very long time.

Run To Meet The Father Who Is Running To Meet You (Or Join The Party)

In the parable of the Prodigal Son, the Father runs across the field to embrace his son. This is our God. He is running to meet you, He is running to meet me. He loves us wildly and scandalously. This is deeply true. Meditate on this parable. Spend time with our God. We may be the prodigal son or we may be the older brother, refusing to join the party. In Luke 15:31, the Father says something surprising, something that I pray reassures and brings life to all of our souls today: “You are always with me, and everything I have is yours.” We are always with God. Always.

I pray today for you, and for me, and for us all:

For this reason, since the day we heard about you, we have not stopped praying for you. We continually ask God to fill you with the knowledge of his will through all the wisdom and understanding that the Spirit gives, so that you may live a life worthy of the Lord and please him in every way: bearing fruit in every good work, growing in the knowledge of God, being strengthened with all power according to his glorious might so that you may have great endurance and patience, and giving joyful thanks to the Father, who has qualified you to share in the inheritance of his holy people in the kingdom of light. For he has rescued us from the dominion of darkness and brought us into the kingdom of the Son he loves, in whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins. (Col. 1:9-13, NIV)

And, if you want to talk, if spiritual direction would be helpful, please feel free to reach out to Tara, here.

We Awaken In Christ’s Body

We awaken in Christ’s body
As Christ awakens our bodies,
And my poor hand is Christ, He enters
My foot, and is infinitely me.
I move my hand, and wonderfully
My hand becomes Christ, becomes all of Him
(For God is indivisibly
Whole, seamless in His Godhood).
I move my foot, and at once
He appears like a flash of lightning.
Do my words seem blasphemous?—Then
Open your heart to Him
And let yourself receive the one
Who is opening to you so deeply.
For if we genuinely love Him,
We wake up inside Christ’s body
Where all our body, all over,
Every most hidden part of it,
Is realized in joy as Him,
As He makes us, utterly, real,
And everything that is hurt, everything
That seemed to us dark, harsh, shameful,
Maimed, ugly, irreparably
Damaged, is in Him transformed
And recognized as whole, as lovely,
And radiant in His life
We awaken as the Beloved
In every last part of our body.

St. Symeon the New Theologian

Meditation on a Jar of H1Bs

It’s in the pencils
that I find you today
God, tucked between the points
and the possibilities. You smell
like wood and things pressed too long
between heavy objects
to be anything other than hard.

Today I will give
away the permission to cry
out to myself, to others
mothers, children, men and miseries
each aching to express something
of what it means to find ourselves
between the pointed barrels
hoping what you’re going to write
is something other than
lead, hoping the violence
against us will stop, today,
and we will find what is being written
by the sharp edges of lives
is love, and that there is softness
enough at the other end of our questions
that they will be (we will be?)
rubbed smooth by grace.

What I’m Into (September 2013)

September, it’s not you—it’s me. (Or maybe it was you.)

Normally, September, you and I have a thing. It’s be a really steady thing, dependable, and I’ve just come to expect it out of you. Maybe it was me, getting lazy, or maybe it was that I was so focused on other things.

We started off on the right foot, and you had some amazing highlights, don’t get me wrong.

First of all, you pulled out your usual: the beginning of Autumn. You know just how to catch my heart, September, with your cooling days and your crisp nights. There were a few great nights on the porch with our new neighbors, talking about life and listening to the darkness. (But that black widow spider you threw in? Were you trying to be funny? Death-dealing arachnids aren’t cool at all, September.)

You played host to some awesome guest posts I got to write this month, too. This post on being a monk in the world at the Abbey of the Arts in advance of some upcoming work Christine and I are going to do together? That was awesome. And I also wrote for A Beautiful Mess about celebrating that big thing that happened during you, September.

That big thing was finishing up the first draft of my book manuscript. I know you didn’t do that, but you made that possible, September, and I’m so very grateful. It’s been a dream I’ve had since I was a little girl, and you made space for the Holy Spirit to hover over, and for these words to come to life:

2013-09-07 22.10.05

Good on ya, September.

Then there was that Soul Care Day up at Potter’s Inn. I know you share that honor with all the other months, but I needed it just when it came around, and your timing didn’t fail.

You pulled out all the stops at the end of the month. I mean, what can beat a new niece being born? Really, now, just look at that face:

IMG_20131003_103311

You hosted that party of cuteness, September. And I thank you for it.

But you did rain on your own parade quite a bit. And by quite a bit, I mean way too much. Really, the 500-year flood in Colorado, September? Haven’t we had enough natural disasters in Colorado this year? The whole flooding thing cancelled a retreat I was set to speak at, not to mention wrecking a whole lot of people’s lives.

And then there was the working all the time, and the deadlines. There was the stress-test, and the There were the great books (some of them advanced copies by friends, September, c’mon!) I didn’t have time to read, the movies and TV shows that I couldn’t get around to and the really rough stories you played host to, September. Haven’t you learned that you need to be a little more fun? Stop hanging around with Destruction and Despair, September, I don’t like what they’re doing to you. When you rolled around it used to be all bright colors and pumpkins, and this year you’ve been wearing black and talking about how pointless it all is. Quit it, September. You’re my favorite month.

I know you tried to pull it together at the end there, with my birthday and that great dinner out, but the damage had already been done for this season. I’m not going to dethrone you from your place atop my calendar favorites, but let’s try to hold it together a bit better next year, okay, September? Because this year, I just wasn’t that into you.

So, how about you? How was your September? Were you more into it than I was?

What I'm Into at HopefulLeigh

I’m linking up with the wordsmistress Leigh Kramer. Join us, if you’re so inclined!

Book Giveaway Winners and a Quote for Monday

Congratulations to our two Eyes of the Heart Book Giveaway Winners:

eyeoftheheart

 

Erin Miller
&
Victoria Shepherd

 

 

If you haven’t taken a look at all the beautiful images that were posted in the group, please have a look! They are stunning.

And, to round out your Monday, here’s a quote from Catherine of Siena, whose feast day is celebrated today, April 29:

“He will provide the way and the means, such as you could never have imagined. Leave it all to Him, let go of yourself, lose yourself on the Cross, and you will find yourself entirely.”

Catherine of Siena

 

Let Me Tell You About Her

While I love all the men in my life and spiritual direction practice, I thought I would share a small glimpse into hearts of the women of valor that I have the privilege of sitting with every day.

Let me tell you about her.*

Let me tell you how she was at the end of her rope, ready to give up on it all. All the talk, all the bumper stickers, all the happy-clappy Jesus-is-the-reason platitudes that made her want to throw up had pushed her right to the edges of faith. Let me tell you how she was so done, but she knew, deep inside of her, that she needed to give God another chance, one more opportunity to disappoint her.

Let me tell you how she showed up at my office, walls up. How she looked at me like she looked at all the other people who professed to have some answers, sideways, waiting for me to disappoint her. Let me tell you about the courage that kept her shields up, and, as the silence lengthened, let her drop them.

Let me tell you how she showed up the next time. Maybe a little more hopeful. And how she showed up the next time. Unsure. And how she kept showing up. Again. And again. And again.

Let me tell you about how she fumbled her way back to faith, knowing that she’d never really left.

Let me tell you how you’ll never know her story, or how much courage it really took to make it, but how you’ll feel the impact of her hungonthroughthehardtimes faith in everything she does.

Let me tell you about her.

Let me tell you about how she just wanted me to give her the right answers to the questions. How she’s spent her whole life figuring out how to do it well, pass the test, impress the judges. Let me tell you how tired she was, how broken, but how she was holding on with everything in her.

Let me tell you how she fought me with everything in her when I invited her to live in the questions. How she knew herself well enough to know that she would fall apart. Let me tell you how her spirit rose, how she showed her strength by standing stubbornly for the way she’d always done it.

Let me tell you how that strength was made perfect in weakness, and how her busy plans to scale that wall she’d been running up against became a resting in the arms of the One who was whispering to her to stop, just stop for now, beloved.

Let me tell you how all the doing it right fell away, how her sense of peace allowed her to enter any room knowing that the God of the Universe wasn’t interested in her passing a test, but living loved.

Let me tell you about her.

Let me tell you how she sat on my couch broken in spirit and bruised in body. Let me tell you how she knew that she couldn’t go back to him, but she couldn’t go to another Christian counselor who would lecture her about the sanctity of marriage.

Let me tell you about the way she trembled, the haunting of a love lost forcing her back into the cushions, the shame curling her body into a cup of despair.

Let me tell you how the Spirit spoke, and she began to believe. How she heard her Jesus call her name, and she turned from the open grave toward the face of a gardener who was inviting her back to an Eden she never knew possible.

Let me tell you how she wept, the grieving a birthing, and the travail in that childbirth brought forth a new life, a one washed clean by Christ, not because she was dirty was sin, but because He makes all things new.

Let me tell you how she gathered up the shards of her soul and made something beautiful out of the shattered pieces, His love the light that shone through into the brilliance of those who have suffered and still sing of His mercy.

Let me tell you about her.

Let me tell you about how she opened her hands to let her husband, her partner, her boyfriend step into spiritual direction with another woman. How she knew that he needed companionship as he felt blindly into place his life with God had become, not really believing that He was really there at all.

Let me tell you how she trusted another woman with the contours of the faith of the man she loved, knowing that she was too close to speak words that he could hear. Let me tell you how she held him in prayer, a silent witness who wrapped each small moment, each wrestling in the kind of hope that only love can produce.

Let me tell you how she stood, and stood, and stood, as he wandered and wondered. How she worked, how she served, how she kept herself before her God. Let me tell you how she wove letting go into the tapestry of their lives together, and how she rejoiced when he returned, just a little more whole, just a little more able to turn toward the One who had been weeping, watching, and waiting with her.

Let me tell you about her.

Let me tell you how she came exhausted, more in need of an hour’s sleep than an hour with me. Let me tell you how she arranged for a sitter, same time every two weeks, and had to wrestle the details to the ground each time anyway, a screaming child on each leg.

Let me tell you how desperate she was for God, how her alabaster jar was filled with the tears of she wept for her children as they fought their first feverish night, their first struggle with words, their first broken bone. Let me tell you how she tenderly wiped the feet of Jesus with her hair, her face to the ground as we held together the messy mixture of desire and duty, parenting and prayer.

Let me tell you how she began to practice the Presence in the laundry, and laugh at the days to come. How the daily became the holy, and both her desperation and desire didn’t diminish, but grew. How she found peace in the process, and home in the journey.

Let me tell you how she thinks no one ever sees, but knows that God does. How that’s often, not always, but often enough, and how she waits with Christ for the dreams unrealized, the hopes to come, patience in the face of tomorrow.

Let me tell you about her.

As we sit together, she shows me what it is to be a woman of God, even as she searches for her identity in Christ.

She is the reason I get up in the morning, the subject of my prayers, the reason I weep in gratitude for every moment I spend as a spiritual director.

She is my patron saint, she is my spiritual midwife.

*For the purposes of confidentiality, all descriptions are composites. Any reference to specific stories have been removed and any congruence with the stories of those I journey with currently or in the past is purely coincidental.

Busyness As Violence

“If busyness can become a kind of violence, we do not have to stretch our perception very far to see that Sabbath time – effortless, nourishing rest – can invite a healing of this violence. When we consecrate a time to listen to the still, small voices, we remember the root of inner wisdom that makes work fruitful. We remember from where we are most deeply nourished, and see more clearly the shape and texture of the people and things before us.”
― Wayne MullerSabbath: Finding Rest, Renewal, and Delight in Our Busy Lives

Vincent van Gogh’s “Rest Work”

 

 

One Word 2013 – SPACE

Last year, the word that chose me was “passion.” I remember where I was when I heard God say it, kneeling in the basement beside the washer and dryer, crouched over my laundry as if it would save me.

 

I didn’t want that word. The only definition that I could think of off the top of my head referred to Christ’s passion, His suffering and dying. I was tired, deeply so, and the idea of further suffering had me on my knees. I don’t remember if I asked God to take it away (I probably did), but I do remember that the word passion simply wouldn’t leave me. I was stuck with it.

 

So, I did what any word nerd would do. I looked it up. Dictionary, Hebrew, Greek. Old friends that usually hid treasures away in the folds of their definitions. Something for me to feel excited about, something for me to believe. Unfortunately, Mr. Merriam and Mr. Webster’s definitions didn’t help me out much. I moved on to the Hebrew and Greek, but the original languages didn’t soothe me, either.

 

Passion Page

Discouraged, I wrote the word in the front of my journal. I looked at it every day, at least until my writing habit had me opening to the middle or later pages and ignoring the cover page altogether. I half-memorized a poem by Philip Schultz called “Pumpernickel” that referred to the “raw recipe of our passion”.

 

Looking back, I’m sad that I missed the more obvious invitation that passion had for me. I’m fairly passionate by nature; I believe that God was whispering something about myself that He saw, that He wanted to delight in further in 2012. I know that I missed unexpected adventures and the God-sized encounters that living in passion could have engendered.

 

And I know why I chickened out on “passion.” I chickened out because I allowed 2011 to drain me dry. Passion is wet and hot and full of life. Passion, the absolute opposite of what I was feeling. In my limited vision, I just couldn’t see how passion would be a guiding force for my year.

 

And I let it fade out of view.

 

My word for the year, my One Word for 2013, is space. It’s another word I didn’t particularly want. Idelette’s words of calling, purpose and vision at SheLoves Magazine roused me to something grand, something meaningful. “Space” just didn’t seem to fit.

 

It’s ironic, isn’t it? A spiritual director turned off by the word “space”. I’m glad I can laugh at myself.

 

This year, I knew I needed to give ear to my resistance, but also choose to move past it. I booked a silent day at a nearby retreat center to get away from my favorite distractions and spend some time really paying attention to what God might be inviting me into. (It didn’t escape me that I was already stepping into some “space”.)

 

I’m so glad that I did.

 

space

 

He brought me out into a spacious place;

He rescued me because he delighted in me.

Psalm 18:19 (NIV)

 

Light, space, zest—that’s GOD!

So, with Him on my side I’m fearless,

afraid of no one and nothing.

Psalm 27:1 (The Message)

 

Don’t dump me, GOD;

my God, don’t stand me up.

Hurry and help me;

I want some wide open space in my life!

Psalm 38:21 (The Message)

 

When hard pressed, I cried to the LORD;

he brought me into a spacious place.

Psalm 118:5 (NIV)

 

I’m looking forward to what God’s going to do with the space that I’m giving Him, and the space that I’m finding in my own life. I’m looking forward to leaning into the definitions of space:

• the distance from other people or things that a person needs in order to remain comfortable

• the opportunity to assert or experience one’s identity or needs freely

• large or magnificent in scale: expansive

• the number of lines of printed or written matter.

 

space

 

I have a sneaking suspicion that my One Word is going to transform 2013.

 

What You Look For, You Will Find In This World

Rob Bell has a new video about rediscovering wonder, finding the Kingdom again, being surprised out of cynicism.

Watch it here…

What do you think?

What stopped you in awe today?