Willingness

Lately I’ve felt the need for greater relationship with Mother Mary.  I’ve made a small Mary altar by my chair (Jesus has moved across the room for now).  I have a picture of the infant Mary in the arms of Anna, her mother, and next to it a statue of Mary opening to God.   And that’s what struck me this morning, as I looked at her.  

Her downcast gaze is one we all know.  So many of us were raised on the ideal of Mary as the submissive, modest woman.  Whether we tried to be like her or spent our lives rebelling against that image, that was who she seemed to be.  But, as many other women (and men) knew, that was not the story of Mary.

When I see her standing with her hands open, her palms out, I do not see submission.  I see vulnerability and openness, willingness.  The difference between submission and openness is the difference between oppression and agency.  Mary is an active participant in what is happening in her life.  Not only could she have said, “No,” but she could have said “Yes” in a wrong tune.  She could have been grudging and resentful, a victim.  If she had, she would have raised a very different son.   Our history, our awareness of God through Jesus, might have been short-circuited by grudging parenting.

I know about saying “No” to the truth, and to possibility.  And I know about grudging submission.  Neither of them are the path of life.  Fortunately, many people teach me about saying “Yes” wholeheartedly, with palms open, standing up and ready.  They teach me to bring what I have, my gifts and my will and my wounds, and let God work in me and through me.  They teach me that vulnerability is a prerequisite for learning and growth.

Be with me, Mary.  Be with us all.  Show us how to be strong by being open.  Teach us the difference between submission and willingness.  Make us sites of creativity in a world of resignation, voices of freedom in a world of oppression.  Give us courage and joy in the struggle.  Amen.

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Happy October!

Follow the Call!

If you follow my posts at all, you know they’ve been few and far between.  I really want to write, I believe I’m called to share the gospel through writing, but something is always in the way.  I put writing times in my calendar, and then they get used in other ways.  People want to meet for discernment; we’re organizing covenant groups; a retreat needs preparation.  There’s always something.  And all these things are good, they are all ways we further the mission of CMA.  But I’m not writing.  I’m not writing large pieces, and I’m not blogging.  I’m not writing.

I don’t know whether this is resistance, or something else.  Resistance is possible; I’ve been doing a lot of inner work, and some part of me may not want to surface enough to share with others.  Or it may be that the personal journalling I’m doing is using up that urge.  But I don’t think so.  I think it’s some form of sinfulness.  It may be sloth - taking the easier road, doing the “urgent” task rather than the important one.  It may be vanity, doing what makes me look good in the eyes of others rather than the slower, harder work.  It may be a result of not knowing how to say no to others, letting them set my agenda.  Is there a name for that sin?  Whatever it is, I have a feeling I’m being unfaithful.  In the name of things I “have to” do, I’m abandoning the thing I’m called to do.

This morning we read the first seven verses of the letter to the Romans.  Paul is “called to be an apostle, set apart for the gospel of God” (1:1).  We talked a little about the power of that clarity, and our awareness that we too are “called to belong to Jesus Christ” (1:6) and to “be saints” (1:7).  Paul is ruthlessly single-minded about what he’s up to.  Me?  I’m all over the place.  My mission is to proclaim the transforming power of encountering Christ.  There are lots of ways to do that.  But if I am evading the way I am to do it, I’m being unfaithful to my call.

So here I am.  I’m praying to rearrange my schedule and stick to it, because sharing with you matters to me.  I don’t know most of you personally, but I really feel it when I share and you click a like or write back.  Please pray that I will remain faithful, and that my words will be those I’m supposed to share.  

And let me prompt you: Is there something you are called to do that you are avoiding, or just not getting to?  If so, know that I will be praying for us all to follow our particular vocations.  I’d love to hear about your struggles and to know you are praying with me.  Together we can be more than any of us can be alone.  May God bless you on your journey.

One is Enough

I just got back from a week in Maine, a lovely vacation.  The week after Labor Day everything slows down and is less crowded, although some places close up or have reduced hours.  Since I mostly wanted to be at the beach or on a trail, that didn’t matter.  I came for the sunrise, sunset, and stars.

The first three days we had fog every evening, lasting through the night and well into the morning.  No sunset, no sunrise, no stars.  It was great weather for reading or doing a puzzle, or thinking, and I did some of each, but I was really put out about the skies.  The middle of each day was beautiful, but I missed my times!  My traveling companion was content to read those days, and it didn’t occur to me to go hiking by myself, so I was restless and frustrated.  By Friday morning I was considering leaving early for someplace with clear skies.

Then everything changed.  We went to the beach, and it was clear and beautiful.  The sunset that night was glorious.  The stars were out that night.  Next day, sunrise was awesome.  We found wonderful, magical trails through the woods that led to water vistas.  Tide pools showed their abundance of life and beauty.  

The next day was overcast, with a storm brewing.  I went down to the water at dawn.  There wasn’t much sunrise to see, but the waves at high tide were beautiful.  It seemed that, having seen a sunrise there, I could now appreciate the land as it was that day.  I could see the beauty.  There was not just one thing to see there; there was a multiplicity of experiences, involving smell and touch and sound as well as vision.  I had let down my expectations enough to encounter the world.

The next morning, our last morning there, we watched a subtle and lovely sunrise.  The water was flat, like I imagine blueberry Jello might look just before it sets.  As the sun rose, it glistened on the water.  I thought, “Once is enough.”  

I don’t need 150 sunrises or sunsets or nights below the stars.  I have this one, and it is amazing.  I can spend my time waiting for the next one, wishing for more, or I can be grateful for the experience and the memory of what is present before me.  I wasted the first three days of vacation - not because I didn’t hike or whatever, but because I was so set on my expectation of how things should be that I could not welcome the world I was in.  Now I know that a foggy sunrise is as much a gift as a full color panorama.  And I know that one is enough.

Today I’m back in Accord, at the computer, but my heart is full.  I can access the memory of any moment, I can open to God right now and find that same joy wherever I am.  

Loaves and fishes.  A little is enough when the heart is open to receive.