Silent Night

 

For me, music is the center of Christmas.  Music brings me to presence, it gets inside of me - or comes from inside of me, I don’t know which.  Or both.  In music, inside and outside meet.  

Just as music is the center of Christmas, Silent Night is the center of the music.  Silent Night marks the pivot point between Advent and Christmas, the time of quiet and stillness in which Christ steals into the physical plane.  

The service begins with full lighting.  The church is full of wreaths and boughs of pine and red ribbons, and maybe candles at each pew.  Sometimes there is incense, just enough to get the scent without causing too much sneezing. 

We open with a vigorous hymn:  “O Come All Ye Faithful,” usually.  Then comes “Angels We Have Heard on High,”  and the readings and the sermon.  There is another hymn before the Gospel, and an anthem before the communion.   As we move into the Great Thanksgiving and turn toward communion we keep singing, ancient words of praise.  Then, with a little quiet organ music, we go forward to receive the Body and Blood of this newly born Christ.  It’s all magical, capturing even the people who don’t really believe the official version; they can feel and hear that something special is happening.

But for me, the peak of the service comes after communion.  We each return to our pew and kneel in silence. The lights are turned down, or off.   In the quiet and dark, candles are lit.  We each received a small candle on entering the church, and now the flame is passed from person to person.  We hold our candles, and we sing “Silent Night.”  It is slow and gentle, moving up and down the scale, floating up and pausing.  It’s like holding your breath, only you’re singing.

“Love’s own true light.” “Radiant beams from thy holy face.”  “Sleep in heavenly peace.”  Light and sound come together.  I can see the light, as gentle as the sound.  I can feel the presence of God, within me and around me.  I could kneel here forever, but now it’s time to go.

  After Silent Night has been sung, the closing prayer signals a return to normal time.  Our breath is moving again now, as we prepare for “Joy to the World” and its busier descant.  There’s a place for all of these moods, all of these songs.  Send me out with joy and alleluias; but first gather me in with silence and peace.  I’ve had my moment, and I carry it in my heart until I can get home and be quiet again.

Sometimes I’ve been in places where they don’t sing Silent Night after communion.  It’s never felt right to me.  Silent Night is for this moment, this quiet and peace before we stand and prepare to leave.  Time stands still here.

When we don’t sing Silent Night after communion, I go home in peace anyway.  I stand out under the stars, and I sing it softly to myself, to the universe.  That’s the real moment of Christmas, where the stars and the song join together.  Heaven opens, and angels pour down.

Anniversaries

 I know I haven't been writing here very often, but I really need to today.  December 12 is a major feast for me.  It is the feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe, She who watches over the peoples of the Americas.  This would be lovely in itself, but it's not the reason it's huge for me.  December 12 is the date of two major anniversaries in my life, the twins pillars of my vocation.

On December 12, 2020, I became a postulant at the Community of St. John Baptist in New Jersey.  This is the beginning of the monastic journey, as the entrant learns about the life and discerns whether this path might be right.  For me it was a moment of being embraced.  I came into the little chapel and stood before the Superior, and she led me through a short declaration of my intent and the community's reception.  The novice director led me to my new stall in choir, where I found my prayer book and a little card, handmade.  Beside an icon of Mary were the words in gold: "Behold the handmaid of the Lord."  On the back were my name, the date, and my postulancy.  I still have that card on my desk.  I see it every day and give thanks.

On December 12, 2009, I was ordained to the priesthood in the Episcopal Church.  At that point I was living apart from the community, and a year later I was "dispensed" from my vows.  The Church could say that, but I knew that my vows were for life, to God; I just didn't know how and where I would live them out.  Eventually God sent me to Elizabeth and we built a new container.  But on that day in 2009, the Sisters were there along with my several church communities.

For years I've said that my monastic vocation is the deepest layer, that my priesthood is secondary to that.  But this year that has changed.  I'm sensing now that the whole journey is one thing, one big God arc.  When I entered the convent people said I should be a priest.  I said no, for many years.  And that was right: I had a lot to learn before I could even begin that process.  I still do.  But priesthood is not secondary.  It's just as much a part of me as my vows and my hunger for God.  It's all one.  

So I wonder: are there threads in your life that look disparate, even opposed, that might instead be one tapestry that God is weaving under your very nose?  Where does tension point to new integration beckoning?

I am eternally grateful to the CSJB Sisters, and to Phillip Wilson and the Church of the Redeemer, and to David Desmith and St. David's Church, to confessors and directors and mentors and everyone who walked with me on that journey.  And I give thanks for all those who continue with me now, and show me more when I think I'm done.  And I give thanks for Guadalupe, watching and guiding me.

May God bless you and keep you; may God make her face to shine upon you, and be gracious to you; may God lift up her countenance to you, and give you peace.

 

Welcome to Advent!

 Here in West Park, we have been longing for Advent.  At its origin Advent was 40 days long, like Lent, beginning on November 12.  By the 13th century, however, the four-week Advent had become the norm in the West.  Over time the longer Advent became forgotten.  However, with the Revised Common Lectionary, the last three weeks of "ordinary time" do introduce the theme of ending and return.  There is a small but growing movement to restore this longer Advent.  We've decided to join.

One of the virtues of this shift is that we get a few weeks before the full cultural insanity of Christmas takes over.  Advent now is not only shorter than its origin; its meaning and power are eclipsed by the larger social context in which many of us live.  Beginning Advent early lets us begin to reflect and anticipate, and the longer season deepens our awareness of what is to come.

Of course, this is all hypothetical for us, as we begin this experiment, but it's our hope - an Advent word!  And don't we need that now?

So what does this mean?  We began our liturgical new year last Sunday.  We have begun using our office for Advent at Matins and Vespers, with appropriate antiphons and hymns and prayers.  We haven't begun to light candles yet; we just got started!  We are changing the altar colors.  We are pondering what other changes we might make to mark this time: not as penitential as Lent, but meaningful.

If you are curious about this shift and how to do it, here's a good place to start:  

http://www.theadventproject.org

It's never too early to pray: Come, Lord Jesus.

Renewal

 I'm returning from two months sabbatical.  Most of it was at home, so it wasn't a complete get-away, but that proved to be useful.  Time away is relaxing, and may lead to insight, but the real point for me is to renew and deepen my commitment to the monastic life, to the Companions, and to life with Elizabeth.  In our daily lives we get on tracks that may not serve us, and without time to reflect and talk they turn into ruts.

I did get some time away, at the beginning and the end, but I did not get the extended trips I had planned.  And because I didn't, I was available for other opportunities: an Enneagram workshop that opened up a lot for me, and a weekly writers' group that is teaching me and inspiring me.  And because I was here, Elizabeth and I could have good conversations.  Together, over these past five months, we have indeed been renewed.

Which leads me to what I want to focus on.

We had gotten used to people not joining us in residential monastic life.  Elizabeth held out hope that someone would come, but I was frankly resigned.  I had stopped talking or writing about it, and I was open to the possibility that God really wanted us to be the only ones, to be the seeds for the larger Companions community, which is indeed growing.  But the sabbatical reignited that desire in me.  When I told Elizabeth, she immediately said, "Yes! We need to tell people again!"  So here I am.

I know this may not seem the time to be considering whether you have a monastic vocation, but I think it's perfect.  COVID is shaking us all up, sometimes forcing us to reconsider our priorities and choices.  And the conviction of call, the mutual discernment, are slow processes.  So now may not be the time to visit (unless you've quarantined for two weeks!), but it may be the time to ask yourself, is this something I have put off, or put away in a dark corner of my mind?  Might God be inviting me to "sell all" to buy the pearl of great price?  Might I dare to look?

This question is not just for women.  We decided long ago that if men felt a vocation we were open.  If you are trans or non-binary, same thing.  We are interested in you, and in what God is up to in you.

You may be thinking you're too old.  Well, I don't know.  I'm no spring chicken myself.  The question is, are you young enough at heart to be open, to be a beginner, to trust others in your life?  Are you brave enough to try?

I don't know.  You may have other objections.  But if you feel the nudge, give us a shout and let's talk about it.  We are not out to harm you; if it feels wrong, we will tell you.  But it just might be right.

Our email is companionsma@gmail.com.  Start praying; if not for yourself, please pray for others to find their way, and for us to be ready to receive them.  God bless you in your vocation, whatever it may be.

In the Boat

 I keep thinking about last Sunday's Gospel (Matthew 14:22-33).  There's just so much in this story.  It's easy to make it into a simple point:  Get out of the boat!  Trust Jesus!  But going to "the point" cuts out so much that's worth pondering.

Why does Jesus send the disciples on ahead?  There's no one answer.  Today I'm going with: the whole thing is an experiment, for them to see what life is like without him.  They set off, and things get hard: the wind blows against them.  They row harder.  It's not working.  At this point they're not afraid; they're just tired and stressed.

Then Jesus comes strolling along.  He's not struggling.  He's cruising.  Now they're afraid: this makes no sense.  Is that a ghost?  He says no, it's me.  Peter isn't sure, but he's willing to be convinced: if it's you, command me to do what you're doing.

Now, I love this moment.  It sounds like a test, and in a way it is, but if Peter didn't already believe somehow he wouldn't risk meeting the challenge.  A demon could command him to get out of the boat, and he'd be fish food.  But when Jesus says "Come," he does.  He already believes that this is Jesus, albeit doing things he's never seen him do.  He doesn't follow perfectly, but he does follow.  He gets to experience walking on water.  I bet he remembers this after Jesus has left.

The other disciples don't even try to get out of the boat.  They, not Peter, are the ones of "little faith."  They'd rather stay in their boat than risk following Jesus in this crazy way.  Row, row, row.  Keep trying.  Do what makes sense.

The other night I dreamed I was driving a truck.  It was older, beaten up, but functional.  I turned onto a road that got really bad quite quickly, but I trusted the truck, and I trusted my ability to drive the truck through this bad spot.  But suddenly the road ended, washed out.  Before me was a pool, almost a pond. There was no way forward for the truck, or for me, unless I swam.  I tried to back out, and the front of the truck - the drive mechanism, the engine - came off and stayed stuck in the mud.  I knew I'd have to walk back out.  That's where the dream ended.

Truck.  Boat.  It's the same thing.  I think I can drive this puppy, I can handle the rough road on my own with my old familiar tools.  But I'm ignoring the signs telling me this road is a mess.  I pass two people who watch me go by.  For all I know they could have helped me, but I'm certain I can do this.  I'm in my boat/truck: I've got this!  Until I don't.

For me this week, Matthew is talking about the contrast between rowing on my own and walking with Jesus.  Jesus knows the easier, softer way.  It involves a lot of prayer, a close connection to God.  Both ways involve effort, but in the end Jesus' way works when mine doesn't.

Now I'm walking back out to a more open, stable place, and asking God to direct me.  Show me where to go, and how.  I will do my best to listen and follow.  How about you?

Come, Let us Sing to our God!

 

Holy Currents

I'm reading Eric Law's book, Holy Currencies, while attending the Kaleidoscope Institute annual conference (via Zoom, of course).  When I read the daily office reading from Acts yesterday (3:-1-11), I was reminded of what he says about currencies.

Law explains that the idea of money as "currency" originated about 400 years ago.  The word derives from  "current," and the reason for the name is that, like water, money only helps when it flows.  Money is not to be hoarded, but to be passed along.  If it doesn't flow, it begins to stagnate and rot.

Seen in this way, Law argues that money is only one of many "currencies" that enrich and sustain people.  Just as important are things like relationships, truth, wellness.  These flow like money; they too are currencies.  We may lack some of them, but we can build on those we do have.

In the reading, Peter and John are walking toward the temple when they meet a lame man who asks them for alms.  Peter and John "looked intently at him" and Peter said, "I have no silver or gold, but what I have I give you; in the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, stand up and walk."  And the man stands up and walks, and leaps, and praises God.

In his condition, the only thing the lame man can imagine that might help him is money.  He has people who lay him at the gate so he can beg, but apparently no one who can or will support him so he need not.  He asks for the only currency he can expect.  Peter and John, however, have received the Holy Spirit.  And, like money, it cries out to be shared.  It manifests here as the capacity for wellness, for healing.  Rather than turning away and saying, "I can't help," they give what they have - which turns out to be so much more than any money they might have given!

So I'm thinking about the Holy Spirit, and all the ways she flows for the health of the body of Christ.  I'm wondering about what currencies I have, and what I can share and give away.  I think language is one of mine, so I'm trying to share with you.  That's bound up with relationships - even with those of you I don't know, don't correspond with.  I'm offering what I have received.  But where else can I enter the circuit of gift?  Where do you, can you, will you?

Go, be a blessing.  You will receive more than you can imagine.

Mary Mag Day Continued

Last night we met via Zoom for our annual celebration.  I gave a brief reflection on our texts, Colossians 3:12-18 and John 20:1-18.  Here it is.

If we were gathered in person, we wouldn’t have this sort of reflection offered by one person.  We’d have a simple liturgy with lots of conversations around it.  But this year is unusual, to say the least.  So, although we may still have conversations with one another, I get to say a few words.

We have two readings to frame our life together, readings we share every year.  The Gospel tells the story of Mary Magdalene encountering Jesus and receiving her commission to tell others what she has seen.  She becomes the apostle to the apostles.  Now, Mary doesn’t have a lot of dialogue in the Gospels, so we need to pay attention when she speaks.

When she recognizes Jesus, she says, “Rabbouni!”  Teacher!  Jesus is her teacher, her rabbi.  She follows him and learns from him, and, when she is commissioned, she shares what he has taught her.  I believe that her words to the other apostles were only the first of many times she taught and testified.  

As we walk with Mary, we follow Jesus.  We learn from him.  And much of what we learn is summarized in the Colossians passage.  Colossians tells us how to treat one another in the community, but Jesus taught the disciples to proclaim the reign of God everywhere.  How we treat one another here in this community is simply a training ground for being with everyone.  The point is not to have a lovely oasis safe from the world, but to have a base for moving into the world and calling forth the awareness of the reign of God that is already present.

Mary’s other line is the key to her proclamation.  “I have seen the Lord!”

She doesn’t expound doctrine.

She doesn’t explain.

She says what has happened to her, and in so doing she invites us into mystery.

Mystery is our deepest fuel for the journey.  It is the destination, but it’s also the source.  When we touch mystery we are moved to explore, to journey.

As we journey with Mary Magdalene, we follow into the mystery, hoping to see what she saw and to be addressed as she was.  We pray to be given a word to share with others as she was.

So right now, what is your word?  

As you sit, can you hear a whisper from that garden?

Your name, spoken like a breeze.  A breath.

A presence, real but impossible to box in or reproduce or cling to.

A message.  A word, a phrase.

Let the whisper sink into your soul.  Carry it as Mary did, in her heart.  

I have seen the Lord.  Alleluia.

Oh Happy Day!

(Icon of Mary Magdalene written by a Companion.)

Today, of course, is our "patronal festival" - Mary Magdalene's feast day.  There's too much to say for one post. 

I'll start by asking your prayers for those who will be making new commitments tonight.

Diane, Ernesto, and Lauren are making their first annual commitment as Covenant Companions, after being Candidates for over a year.

Shelby is making her Candidacy commitment, exploring what it means to be a Covenant Companion.

The rest of us will be renewing our vows and promises - Annie and Dario, Elizabeth and myself.

All of this, this year, on Zoom, with our covenant group, Board members, and friends in attendance.  It will be joyous, and yet poignant - as perhaps befits Mary Magdalene.  Joy, but not simple triumph.

She sees Jesus risen from the dead, but she doesn't get to cling to him.  There's new life, but it's not about going back to what was.  The past is past, except as it lives in memory.  That normal is gone forever.  

But the end of that normal is not the end.  No:  "even though we once knew Christ from a human point of view, we know him no longer in that way.  So if anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation: everything old has passed away; see, everything has become new!" (2 Cor. 5:16-17).

We need to hear this today.  A lot is passing away, and what is emerging is not all pretty.  A lot of it stinks of death.  But amid the stench there are new blossoms, new frontiers of creativity and caring and leadership.  Rather than sighing for the loss of our annual in-person gathering, we are planning a "semester" of events that will deepen our practice of the covenant and our dwelling in the charism.  And tonight, because of the technology we are "forced" to use, we can include others in what is usually a private moment.  We may never be the same.  

I pray we will never be the same: we the Companions, we our country, we our world, we this blessed creation in which we are privileged to dwell.  I pray for the new creation in Christ.

In this new creation, "the love of Christ urges us on" (2 Cor. 5:14).  What I love about this is the ambiguity of the phrase.  "The love of Christ": is that Christ's love for us, or our love of Christ?  I don't really want to have to choose, whatever Paul meant.   I like to see it as a circuit - Christ's love urging me to more love, my love of Christ urging me to live no longer for myself, but to share the good news of this love.

So today, my friends and companions, let the love of Christ urge you on, encourage you, dwell in you richly.  I give thanks for all of you who have blessed us with your support and participation over the years, too many to name.  May we all know and share this new creation.

One Person's Wheat . . .

Today's Gospel is Matthew 13:24-30, 36-43.  It's the parable of the wheat and the weeds.  It got me thinking.

First, let me say that I need to leave behind Matthew's explanation of the parable (vv. 36-43).  Just like last week, when he has Jesus explain his parable to the disciples, it seems that Matthew wants to head off the very work of wondering that Jesus' parables invite us into.  By telling us what the parables mean, he makes them less parabolic, and therefore less fruitful.  So, let's leave behind his little summary and just enjoy the parable.

In the parable, there is wheat and there are weeds.  And, of course, no farmer wants weeds mixed in with their wheat.  Jesus' audience would get an image of what he means.  Let them grow together and sort it out later, lest pulling up the weeds also uproots the wheat.  At the end, we will sort them out.  OK, got that.

But here's where I've been wondering this week.

For the last month or two, we've been gathering the various grasses and wildflowers that grow on our lane and the pathway to the monastery and using them in place of flowers.  We have lovely arrangements of  - weeds. 

In past years I would have just walked by those grasses.  I might have appreciated them where they are, but I wouldn't bring them inside - I'd buy flowers, or cut flowers we had grown.  I would not be making bouquets out of weeds.  But this year, the beauty of the grasses overtook me.  I haven't been settling for weeds - I've been appreciating what they bring, the "wheatness" of them.  

So now, when I read this parable, I wonder: How can I be sure what is wheat and what is weeds?  See, it's not just a matter of not uprooting the sprouts I know to be good and nourishing - it's also a question of knowing which is which.  For all I know these weeds are wholesome in their own right!  In uprooting them, I may be depriving myself and others of potential nourishment.

Of course, there is a place for discernment.  Some things are clearly toxic - some plants, and some qualities of the soul.  But some things are less clear.  Is my impatience a weed, or is it a wild unruly flower?  Is my obnoxious neighbor (pick your version of why they are intolerable) a weed to be thrown into the fire, or wheat that can teach me something or bring a gift if properly cultivated with patience and understanding?  You get my drift.

This is not a prescription for paralysis.  In fact, Matthew's explanation leaves us both judging and impotent:  I know who is a weed, and I can trust that God will burn them.  Yuck.  No, this is an opening toward discernment, toward a more careful contemplative approach to myself and others.  Knowing that I don't always know what God finds to be useful leads me to pray as the recovery programs teach us:  I pray for God to remove every defect of character which stands in the way of my usefulness to God and to others.  That may include some things I like (my "wheat") and leave some things I don't.  Then I watch and notice, and make the best choices I can.

What's growing in your garden today?

Not as I would have it . . .

Each morning I read several daily meditations from recovery programs.  This morning one of them included these sentences:

"With my life in God's care, fear, uncertainty, and anger are no longer my response to those portions of life that I would rather not have happen to me.  The pain of living through these times will be healed by the knowledge that I have received the spiritual strength to survive."

Well, for sure these days have a lot of portions that I would rather not have happen.  From the global, to the national, to the local, to the personal, there's a lot of disruption and interruption of my plans and desires.  And some days - some minutes of each day - fear, uncertainty, and anger do indeed crop up.  At those moments it can be hard to hear or believe that my life is in God's care.   If this is care, I want to say, what is neglect like?  If my life is in God's care, what of those whose lives are immeasurably harder than mine?  Words like the ones I quoted can sound facile.

I do believe, however, that I have been given the strength to survive.  My life is a miracle.  It was a miracle that I survived my youth, my drinking and drugging days.  It has been a miracle to be held during the times that I got lazy in my own recovery work.  I have been given the strength to survive, even before I reached out to God, but since then I have learned to thrive.  Death, loss, disorientation, financial insecurity, fallout from my history and my addictions - none of them have severed the connection to God.  God initiated that connection; I just responded.  I still respond, as well as I can.

These times are hard.  But God is strong, and fierce.  We can reach out for the strength to survive, and to thrive.  And beyond that, we find the strength to reach out to others who need to see God in the flesh, in another person.  Even behind our masks, our eyes can smile.  We can still talk.  We can share what we have.  When we do, we actually get stronger.  Abundance grows as it's shared.

So today, I will stand in the knowledge that I, that we, can weather all the storms confronting us.  Together we get through.

And today's Gospel at the Eucharist:  Matthew 11:28-30.  Go get it!

Unblocking

I can't believe I haven't posted since May!  Well, actually, I can.  I spent June in some sort of twilight zone.  I didn't write on my memoir, nor did I blog or write sermons or - anything.  As the days went on I wondered what was up.  Yes, I was unhappy with so much in the world, big and small.  But I knew there was something more.  I was reading a lot, but I wasn't finding anything to write about.  (Well, sometimes I did, but they were scary ideas I was pondering from my reading, not ready for prime time.)

Then, two days ago, I asked myself what had changed.  I realized that I had stopped doing jigsaw puzzles. I had been doing puzzles and listening to music for the first two months of "enclosure," then I decided that the puzzling was probably leading me into rabbit holes and negative thoughts.  So I stopped.

I didn't know just how much I needed that open time to think.  I knew that I did much of my writing in my head, while doing a puzzle, but I didn't know just how crucial that time was to my process.  But doing a puzzle lets my mind wander while my eyes and hands do something trivial.  In stopping it, I was depriving myself of a crucial time of reflection and composition.  So two days ago I got out an old puzzle.  And here I am, ready and eager to start again.

This experience made me wonder where else we block ourselves by dropping practices that don't seem integral to our spiritual or creative lives.  Where do I block my prayer life by letting go some little thing that has worked for me?  Something as small as a jigsaw puzzle.  Or taking time in the garden, or exercising, or calling a friend, or listening to music, or cooking, or . . . 

If you're feeling blocked or cut off from yourself or God these days, is there a little practice that you've dropped?  Is there one that might help if you started?  And if you aren't feeling blocked or cut off, how do you keep an open channel?  Give thanks for it and keep it up!

And now, back to the memoir.  I haven't been posting pieces, but I'm moving along - again.  God bless you all.

What to do? Pray.

Happy Ascension Day!

We are preaching on Sunday, so I've been pondering those readings (Acts 1:6-14) and today's reading from Luke (24:44-53).  Each of these describes what the community did after Jesus was no longer present with them.  In Acts "Luke" says that "they went to the room upstairs where they were staying.  In Luke's Gospel he says that "they were continually in the Temple."  But both readings describe the same action: they devoted themselves to prayer and praise.  Wherever they were, they knew what to do.

These days it may feel more like we're in the upper room than in the Temple.  You may be missing your church, and the general bustle of the world around you.  Or, you may be experiencing too much of it, via technology!  You may feel alone, or you may feel crowded in with others.  Whatever your situation, the message is the same.  This is a time to pray, to bless God.

It's not a time to pray because we're in trouble.  It's a time to pray because it's always time to pray.  But now, as we wait for Pentecost and the coming of the Spirit, we can pray with the memory and the awareness of the generations of other disciples who have prayed in all sorts of places, all sorts of moods and situations.  It looks like Jesus has left, but the Spirit comes and fills us.  Wherever we are.

If you're missing your local temple and your face to face community, listen to George Herbert.
Seven whole days, not one in seven,
I will praise thee.          
  - George Herbert

We are freed from the belief that only one day deserves prayer, and only one place enables us to be heard.  From our upper rooms, together with whoever is there, we can, we will, open ourselves to God.

So, as you're pondering your rule of life in this new time, you can start by praying and praising.  I'm praying for us all, and giving thanks for you and your companionship on this journey.  We never really know where it leads - it wouldn't really be God without the surprise - but we know the Spirit is with us and will lead us into truth.  Rejoice!

A Rule of Life

And more.
I mentioned that monastics are generally governed by a rule.  That's a hard word for many of us.  "Rule" sounds like something to obey, something to get in trouble over.  So let me say a little about a rule, and how you can make one.

First, some trivia.  "Rule" comes from the Latin regula, trellis.  If we grow, we can use a framework and support to guide us.  A rule provides the trellis for our growth.  It names our values and offers guidelines for living them out.

Many of us live with implicit rules: "love your neighbor," "do unto others as you would have them do to you," "eat drink and be merry."  If you have been confirmed in a church (I mean really confirmed, not just going through the motions), you signed onto a rule.  It might have been called a covenant, but it's the same thing.  Values are named, actions counseled to further those values.

So: what are your values?  What do you want to stand for?  What matters to you?
Write them down.  Not a long list, don't get lost in the weeds.  Maybe five values.

Then: what actions will keep you aiming at those and growing on that path, that trellis?  You may get very concrete and specific, or it may be more general.  At some point it helps to have some specifics, so you know how you're doing.

Is prayer important to you?  Then how will you practice?
Is service to others a value?  How about care of the earth?  Health and well-being?  Justice?  What steps will you take to advance - or at least hold the line?

A rule is aspirational.  It gives us something to aim at, not to beat ourselves for failing at.  So you don't need to be afraid to fail.  Failure is how we see our need, and notice what doesn't work.

You can make a rule for yourself, but to really give it teeth I encourage you to join with someone else.  Elizabeth and I read a paragraph from our community Charism, Covenant, or Rule each day and check in on how it's going, and whether it still speaks to us.  Our other Companions check in with us and one another.  Five minutes makes all the difference.

What is the growth to which you're being called?  Who will you grow with?

More on Monasticism

OK, so I began to write about monasticism, but later I kept thinking about it.  The question you might be asking is, Why should I live like this?  Why would anyone live like this?

I could say, if you're called to it you'll want to.  But I think sometimes we can't hear a call until it's distinguished from other sounds by a conversation or an insight.  So, here's my attempt to sketch a distinction.

Many people associate monasticism with renunciation, focusing on what you can't do.  And it's true, traditional monasticism has vows that limit or exclude some activities that most of us like.  But that's not the point.  The point is to share our lives with others on the way to God, centering our lives on God and in God.  Any particular commitments gain legitimacy only insofar as they further that purpose.  So don't get confused by the history: many religious orders were modeled more on a military hierarchy than on a spiritual community.

Monasticism is rooted in the monos - the one.  While living in community, we are thrown back onto ourselves, forced to confront those parts of ourselves that make life difficult for ourselves and others and God.  We aim for the one pearl of great price - knowing God.  That's not to the exclusion of other people - we learn that we will know God primarily through those other people, just as they are.

Having children doesn't necessarily bar you from living a monastic life.  Having a life partner doesn't.  Having a job, civic commitments - we can do all these things as "monastics," grounded in a shared life of prayer and worship.  The distinguishing feature is our purpose.   Where is my treasure?  Where is the center of my life?  What am I about?

Not all lives devoted to glorifying God are monastic.  People can devote themselves to God through lives of active service.  That's good too, but monastic life is centered on prayer and worship in common.  As one of our advisors says, "one roof, one kitchen."  One chapel.  So "ideally" you will do this with others (maybe with us!).  But you can live a version of this with a network of others, sharing prayer and worship and study and the occasional meal.  You can share the hunger for God alone, together.

So why live like this?  Because it brings deep joy.  Because knowing God, knowing God's love for us and ours for God, is a treasure beyond anything on earth.  That's not to denigrate all the other joys in life; it's to say that there's another frontier.  Life together is a life of glimpses of that joy, glimpses of God in one another and in oneself and in creation.  It's a life of shared purpose, strengthening us to be the people we're called to be.  Beyond our wildest dreams, people!  Go for it.

Pachomius

Today the Episcopal Church remembers Pachomius of Tabenissi, the founder of cenobitic monasticism.  "Cenobitic" means living together, rather than as a collection of hermits.  This was a new development when Pachomius began.  His monastery was the target of bishops and priests who feared the independence of the monks from the church hierarchy, and Pachomius returned their suspicion.  The official biography offers a happy ending with "mutual respect" between monastics and the church hierarchy; but in the early Constantinian age, when others forms of diversity were being swallowed up, I'm suspicious that it was more a takeover and compromise than a real rapprochement.  Whatever.  I could say a lot about this, but it's not my focus today.

What matters today is that this form of life continues, in a variety of shapes and sizes, and gives life to many of us.  Elizabeth and I share this life, as part of a larger community that bridges monastic and non-monastic, lay and ordained.  We are not just a couple of women sharing a home, or a life; we are a monastic community, whether we are two or two hundred.  Our lives are centered on prayer, with ministry flowing from that.  Our Rule and Covenant are part of the long line of guides for living this life.  Reading about Pachomius today makes me grateful that this seed keeps sprouting, in hearts and minds and occasionally in whole lives.

I don't write to you as to a spectator in this enterprise.  There is no official checklist to meet before becoming a "cenobitic monastic community."  If you are hungry for that shared life of prayer, hungry enough to change your life, look around.  Perhaps you're married to someone who shares your passion for God.  What would happen if you committed to one another to live according to a rule of life, a rule you created together?  Or perhaps you live alone, and you can't imagine leaving your work or other commitments to find others who share your dream.  What if you asked God to help you imagine?  What if you prayed for a door to open?

Elizabeth and I did not join an existing community.  We made it up, out of threads given us by generations of other seekers.  The Companions are new, and old.  You have the same potential in you.  If you want it, ask.

Yesterday's office reading of the Gospel:  Don't worry about what you are to eat or drink or wear.  Strive for the kingdom of God and its righteousness, and you'll be taken care of.

Do you believe it?  Are you willing to bet on it?  Oh, I hope so!

Leisure is not a Luxury

In these days of dislocation, some of us are scrambling to do everything from home - our jobs, our families, our friendships and spiritual communities.  Many feel busier than before!  Others find themselves at a loss, as they are laid off or work commitments are cancelled.  The COVID crisis is laying bare and exacerbating the growing inequality and divisions in our societies.

I am relatively protected from this, but I'm definitely on the "more open" end of the spectrum.  Some retreats have been cancelled, the gym is closed, all sorts of trips are off the table.  I find myself with time to reflect, to write, to listen to music.  I'm rediscovering my early novitiate, when I had few obligations beyond study and prayer.

Recently a friend returned a book I had loaned her, that I had forgotten about.  Leisure, The Basis of Culture, was written by Josef Pieper S.J. seventy years ago.  Pieper distinguishes leisure from idleness and argues that creativity and spiritual growth depend upon it.  Indeed, the root of our word for "school" is the Greek for "leisure."  Leisure allows time for ideas to emerge, for insight to be gained, for challenges to be faced.  Without leisure we become trapped by compulsion and habit, even as we seem to be serving and ministering and even praying.

What a perfect time to return to this book and its lessons!  I felt guilty at first as I did a jigsaw puzzle. Then I found that as I did that I heard hymns and psalms in my head, then thought of people I hadn't talked to in a while, then had ideas for my writing.  I remembered what I used to know - that a puzzle, a walk, are for me part of the creative process.  Now I sit down a bit each day and do the puzzle, and listen to classical music or nothing.

This is not just for our own sake, people.  The world desperately needs people of courage and clarity and peace right now.  The world needs a way forward.  Long ago the monasteries were the holders of culture, of learning of all sorts, when the world around them was collapsing.  Today the monasteries aren't enough.  We each need to, and deserve to, live into what they knew.

If you are a parent working from home and coping with your kids, I don't have great insight.  I can't tell you what to do here.  But I can urge you to make 15 minutes to pray for a creative way forward.  Don't rush it or force a solution.  Leisure is only real if it's not programmed or aimed too sharply.  I am praying for you, in my expanded leisure, and I will pray for you to find some.

If you are alone, unemployed and challenged with bills, I hate to sound like I know what you should do.  I do have a strong opinion (about everything!).  If there's nothing to do, nothing that worrying will help with, sit still for a bit.  Enough cleaning.  Look out the window.  Listen to music.  Read a poem or a novel.  Let your heart teach you something new.  Something will emerge - at least that's my  experience.  I am praying for you too, every day.

We are bound together.  Those who make use of leisure are not opting out of our collective responsibilities, but are taking up the challenge of letting God inspire them and, through them, those around them.  Your leisure, rightly engaged in, will enrich my life.

Don't just do something, stand there!

Get the book:https://www.ignatius.com/Leisure-P1445.aspx

Mary the Apostle

I read this the other day, and wanted to share it.  Some radical new thought?  No.  This is from a sermon by Lancelot Andrewes preached before King James I on Easter Day 1622.

________________

The risen Christ gave Mary Magdalene a commission.  'Go' is her mission, and 'tell my brethren' is her commission.  A commission, to publish the first new of his rising, and as it falls out, of his ascending too.

The Father that by this word she was by Christ made an apostle, nay 'an apostle to the apostles themselves.'  An apostle; for what lacks she?  Sent first, immediately from Christ himself; and what is an apostle but so?  Secondly, sent to declare and make known.  And last, what was she to make known?  Christ's rising and ascending.  And what are they but 'the gospel,' yea the very gospel of the gospel?

This day, with Christ's rising, begins the gospel; not before.  Crucified, dead and buried, no good news, no gospel in themselves.  And them the Jews believe as well as we.  The first gospel of all is the gospel of this day, and the gospel of this day is this Mary Magdalene's gospel, the prime gospel of all, before any of the other four.  That christ is risen and upon his ascending, and she the first that every brought these glad tidings.  At her hands the apostles themselves received it first, and from them we all.

________

We need to keep hearing this.  Mary was known to be an apostle from the beginning, and that knowledge has never been extinguished.  Nothing new, but continually buried and rising again.  The truth.

As Companions of Mary the Apostle, we continue to preach the gospel "by any means necessary."  However, wherever, whenever we can, we announce the good news of new life in Christ.  Please pray for us to fulfill the commission that we too have sensed in our hearts.  Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia!

God in the Pause

We're into week five of the "pause," and results are beginning to show.  The numbers of new cases, and of deaths, are dropping steadily.  It's still a lot, but it's not like a week ago, not like two weeks ago.  We may have peaked - for now.  I pray over the numbers each day, over the people they report, and the last two days have been days of thanks as well as petition.

I am one of those who has found a blessing in the pause.  Elizabeth and I had each planned three months of sabbatical time later this year, because we needed a real disruption to get off our track of overwork and routine, which had blocked any deeper creativity.  When COVID hit and plans were disrupted it was painful to see dates dropping away.  But now, we're creating that space here.  Our prayer and meal schedule is unchanged, but we've each found some room to relax and let our minds wander each day.

So I'm finally starting to write.  I kept looking for a good time to write each day, and I was constantly interrupted with "urgent" things coming from others.  Now I'm writing 5:30-6:30 most mornings, before Matins.  And sometimes there's time later in the day for more, but sometimes my "writing" takes place over a jigsaw puzzle or during a walk, as ideas and memories come to me.  (And I'm starting to post some things:  https://shanephelanswimming.blogspot.com.)

Now we're beginning to talk about what we want to create after the pause - the shape of our lives, how to maintain the space we're finding.  It will be a challenge, but one of the gifts of community is having others who remind you of your commitments.

Perhaps you have been finding some open space.  How does it feel?  Sometimes I'm still feeling a bit guilty as I sit over the puzzle, but I get over it.  God speaks to me, and I need to make space to listen and hear.  It looks like doing nothing - and it is!  It's letting God do something, equipping me to do what She would have me do.

Are you letting God work during this time?  What is She up to in you and around you?

Seven Stanzas At Easter

Seven Stanzas At Easter

John Updike

Make no mistake: if He rose at all

it was as His body:

if the cells' dissolution did not reverse, the molecules

reknit, the amino acids rekindle,

the Church will fall.

It was not as the flowers,

each soft Spring recurrent;

it was not as His Spirit in the mouths and fuddled

eyes of the eleven apostles;

it was as His flesh: ours.

The same hinged thumbs and toes,

the same valved heart

that - pierced - died, withered, paused, and then

regathered out of enduring Might

new strength to enclose.

Let us not mock God with metaphor,

analogy, sidestepping, transcendence;

making of the event a parable, a sign painted in the 

faded credulity of earlier ages:

let us walk through the door.

The stone is rolled back, not paper-mache,

not a stone in a story,

but the vast rock of materiality that in the slow

grinding of time will eclipse for each of us 

the wide light of day.

And if we will have an angel at the tomb,

make it a real angel,

weighty with Max Planck's quanta, vivid with hair,

opaque in the dawn light, robed in real linen

spun on a definite loom.

Let us not seek to make it less monstrous,

for our own convenience, our own sense of beauty,

lest, awakened in one unthinkable hour, we are

embarrassed by the miracle,

and crushed by remonstrance.

Resurrection in the midst of death

This is Easter 2020:

Yesterday the death toll from COVID-19 passed 10,000 in New York State.  A month ago we had just had our first death.  Our focus was on Italy, with its horrible numbers and reality.  I'm not sure we knew that it would be just as bad here.

It's Easter.  And all around us people are sick, dying, being buried in ways we never thought we'd see outside of wartime.

It's Easter.  On Sunday Ernesto led a service for hundreds at the Beatrice (Nebraska) Speedway, preaching new life out of the old.  Elizabeth preached resurrection to those of us gathered on Zoom.  We found ways to celebrate, to be together, to believe in resurrection.

How do we hold together the pain and the promise of this time?
I'm crying when I see the numbers, while I pray for those souls and those who love them.
I'm smelling flowers and watching the birds and trees and bunnies wake up.
I'm standing in the middle, not balancing, just holding it all.

Well, no.  I'm not holding it.  That's Christ's business.  "He himself is before all things, and in him all things hold together . . . For in him all the fullness of God was please to dwell" (Colossians 1:17,19).

All the fullness of God.  Not just the happy parts.  Not just the pain either.  All of it.  All things are reconciled in Christ: death and life, sin and forgiveness.  In Christ, the pain of crucifixion and all the other deaths is held with the promise of new life and of transformation.  Mary's grief becomes shock, and joy, but the trace of grief remains to give texture and depth to the joy.  All the fullness of God.

On Sunday Ernesto talked about the empty churches as "empty tombs."  He reminded us that Christ is alive, is here among us wherever we gather.  Christ comes into the tombs of our hearts as well.  Mary stood weeping, and couldn't even recognize Jesus in her grief.  And then he called her name.

May you, this day, hear your name.  May you know the possibility of new life in the midst of whatever grief and fear you face today.  May you go and tell others who need to know.  All things hold together, as we hold together.  We are the body of Christ.

Unconditional Love

Today, Thursday, marks the beginning of the three great days.  During these days we will travel from the upper room to the garden, to the prison, to the cross and grave and another garden.  Soon we will be back in the upper room, experiencing Christ in a new way.  Tonight we begin in the upper room.

These three days are packed with meaning.  We all will focus on different meanings, and all will be part of the great story.  For me, these days are about God's crazy love for us, and our response.

Tonight Jesus will share his body and blood with his friends.  They won't understand, I expect, although the Gospels don't record anyone asking, "Lord, what are you talking about?" or refusing to eat or drink.  But they will balk at that other sign of love, the foot-washing.  I suspect the eating they can overlook, as the bread and wine look like and taste like bread and wine.  But there's no mistaking the foot-washing for anything other than physical touch, the humblest service.  Peter balks, and I bet he's not the only one.  He's the one we hear about.

Martin Smith writes that many of his retreatants identify with Peter, and my own experience is similar.  In many churches most people will not come forward to have their feet washed.  Even some who will wash others will not allow others to wash them.  It's just too humbling to receive that touch.  Perhaps some people are relieved that this year they don't have to decide!

This resistance to being loved and served by Jesus shows up in so many places in my life, and I dare say in others'.  I remember as a young adult feeling sorry for those who "needed" to believe in God.  You may need a crutch, that's OK, but I'm stronger than that.  It took years for me to get strong enough to let myself need that love.  I couldn't trust anyone's love, even those I loved, so I refused to need it.  I lived half a life.

Later I did come to know God, and to rely on that Power, and my life grew.  But I drew a line between "spirituality" and "religion," especially Christianity.  I was not going to talk to or about Jesus.  My God was still pretty vague and generic.

I still remember the day when I let Jesus love me.  I prayed to God already, I had a relationship of trust, but I still hadn't let this love come to me.  But one beautiful California day, in March 2000, I was sprung open.  And everything changed.  Who knew there was so much joy in the world?

Tonight, and these days, let Jesus love you.  He's going to do it whether you consent or not.  The question is whether you let yourself experience it.  Let it happen.

If you're alone tonight, wash your feet and imagine - experience - Jesus washing them.  If you live with others, invite them to join you in washing one another.  Wet or dry, let yourself be bathed in love tonight, and through these days.  Jesus is going to go much further in love than washing your feet!  He is going to give himself totally. When we respond in kind, joy and love will spread - exponentially.

God be with you, today and always.

Holy Week!

Last Supper by David LaChappelle

Holy Week is often a time of many different emotions and thoughts for me.  I go from wonder at the love Jesus shared and inspired, to horror and grief, to -

I try not to get ahead of the story this week.  I don't always get to joy exactly on schedule.  I don't want to plow through this week of intense intimacy with Jesus.  As a Companion of Mary Magdalene, I treasure this week of walking with her as she walks with Jesus.  It's a time of deep reflection and prayer.

And, this year, of work.  Elizabeth and I had planned to do a very quiet, private Holy Week this year: all the services, but just the two of us and whatever local friends might want to join.  Then COVID hit.  As we learned of people's yearning to be together, our hearts matched that yearning.  We are used to meeting on Zoom, so we thought: let's invite some of our friends to join us.  Simple, right?

We've spent the last week consumed with creating a meaningful service that everyone could not only view but participate in.  With Diane Paulsell, one of our Covenant Companions, and Allison Moore, the new priest at St. Andrew's in New Paltz, we're putting on the full Triduum - from foot washing to new fire.  No communion, honoring our inability to be physically together, but we will be spiritually and really united.  So: readings, liturgies, Zoom instructions, have been pouring into the computer.  Emails, phone calls, rehearsals.  Suddenly we're hosting a church service!

So: how to honor the need to be in the story myself, to pray and meditate, while also working full out to enable our community to share the story?  This is the dilemma, not only of those who lead or serve churches, but of everyone who has a job and a family and also wants to be mindful.  So I don't have an answer; I just have a sense of solidarity.

As every year, I'm reminded that the first Holy Week was like that for the women who served Jesus and his companions, and probably for that company as well.  They weren't all sitting around feeling deep feelings.  They felt a lot, I'm sure, but they also kept cooking.  Like them, we don't take a break from "the world" this week unless we go on retreat and let others bear that burden for us.  Most of the time, all we can do is remember Jesus and pray without ceasing.

Everything I do this week,I offer to you, Jesus.  Please work through me, through us, and give me the awareness of your presence and your love.  Help me keep my heart fixed on you even as I plow through emails and plans.  Help us all to remain with you in this time when you pour yourself out for us.  Show me how to live, and eventually to die, in love.

Death Be Not Proud

Today is the feast day of John Donne, priest and poet.  In the midst of COVID, which has now taken over 3000 people in the U.S., I offer these.

SONNET X

   Death, be not proud, though some have called thee 
     Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so; 
     For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow 
   Die not, poor Death; nor yet canst thou kill me. 
   From rest and sleep, which but thy picture be, 
     Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow; 
     And soonest our best men with thee do go-- 
   Rest of their bones and souls' delivery!

   Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men, 
     And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell; 
     And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well 
   And better than thy stroke, Why swell'st thou then? 
        One short sleep past, we wake eternally, 
        And Death shall be no more: Death, thou shalt die!

MEDITATION 17: NUNC LENTO SONITU DICUNT, MORIERIS
[Now this bell tolling softly for another, says to me, Thou must die.]

     Perchance he for whom this bell tolls may be so ill as that he know not it tolls for him; and perchance I may think myself so much better than I am, as that they who are about me and see my state may have caused it to toll for me, and I know not that. 
     The church is catholic, universal, so are all her actions; all that she does, belongs to all. When she baptizes a child, that action concerns me; for that child is thereby connected to that body which is my head too, and ingrafted into that body whereof I am a member. And when she buries a man, that action concerns me: all mankind is of one author and is one volume; when one man dies, one chapter is not torn out of the book, but translated into a better language; and every chapter must be so translated. God employs  several translators; some pieces are translated by age, some by sickness, some by war, some by justice; but God's hand is in every translation, and his hand shall bind up all our scattered leaves again for that library where every book shall lie open to one another. 
     As therefore the bell that rings to a sermon calls not upon the preacher only, but upon the congregation to come, so this bell calls us all; but how much more me, who am brought so near the door by this sickness. 
     There was a contention as far as a suit (in which piety and dignity, religion and estimation, were mingled) which of the religious orders should ring to prayers first in the morning; and it was determined that they should ring first that rose earliest. If we understand aright the dignity of this bell that tolls for our evening prayer, we would be glad to make it ours by rising early, in that application, that it might be ours as well as his whose indeed it is. The bell doth toll for him that thinks it doth; and though it intermit again, yet from that minute that that occasion wrought upon him, he is united to God. Who casts not up his eye to the sun when it rises? but who takes off his eye from a comet when that breaks out? Who bends not his ear to any bell which upon any occasion rings? but who can remove it from that bell which is passing a piece of himself out of this world? 
     No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main. If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friend's or of thine own were. Any man's death diminishes me because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee. 
     Neither can we call this a begging of misery or a borrowing of misery, as though we were not miserable enough of ourselves but must fetch in more from the next house, in taking upon us the misery of our neighbors. Truly it were an excusable covetousness if we did; for affliction is a treasure, and scarcely any man hath enough of it. No man hath affliction enough that is not matured and ripened by it and made fit for God by that affliction. If a man carry treasure in bullion, or in a wedge of gold, and have none coined into current money, his treasure will not defray him as he travels. Tribulation is treasure in the nature of it, but it is not current money in the use of it, except we get nearer and nearer our home, heaven, by it. Another man may be sick too, and sick unto death, and this affliction may lie in his bowels as gold in a mine and be no use to him; but this bell that tells me of his affliction digs out and applies that gold to me, if by this consideration of another's danger I take mine own into contemplation and so secure myself by making my recourse to my God, who is our only security.

Annunciation

Hi everyone,

Blessed Annunciation to you!

I really wanted write something meaningful and thoughtful about this day in our liturgical year, and in our life on earth.  Then a friend mentioned she needed groceries, and she's older and we didn't want her to go to the store, so we shopped and delivered food instead.  The day got away, and now it's almost time for Vespers and then a Companions meeting.  I thought of just doing a puzzle.

But it's the Annunciation: one of the days we hear an angel say, "Don't be afraid."  And we hear a human being say, "OK, do it."  (Or, "let it be unto me according to your word" - same thing.)  So I have to at least say hello.

And, not exactly "Don't be afraid."  There's a healthy fear, respect for the power of nature and the power of God.  There's holy awe, the awareness of our fragility and limitation.  We are all in touch with our mortality in a new way: not only our own eventual death, but the death of others, of those we love, those we care for, those we share the planet with.  There's social and economic death.  There's plenty to fear, as there was for Mary.

And yet God is indeed here, planting new seeds of life.  The seeds may look fragile next to the devastation, but in the end the seeds will overgrow the devastation.  God's love is bigger, more resilient, more virulent than any virus.  Our part is to marvel, to wonder, and to say yes to our part in God's work of planting.

Today, I invite you to say yes.  Yes to helping your neighbors, whether by active contribution or by staying away.  Yes to not giving in to panic.  Yes to loving God and others.  Yes to finding ways to reach out and dig deep.  Say yes.

You too are a God-bearer.  The Divine Spirit dwells in you.  Thanks be to God!

Sinking In

This is sinking in now.  We're living in a strange sort of whiplash.  My life, our life at the Companionary, is definitely more enclosed, but the brunt of the crisis is outside, distant.  We can see the news, or not, if it's too much.  I can choose, to an extent, my exposure to this pandemic.  I can choose, to an extent, my response.  I continue my daily routines, my prayer and writing and gratitude and calls.  But I cannot choose how this feels.

Two days ago I woke feeling fine, then by Matins my left arm was in pain, muscles seized up.  I didn't do anything I could think of, but I could hardly use my left arm.  Heating pads, pain killers offered temporary relief, but no progress.  Then Elizabeth offered to find the trigger point and gently loosen it.  As she did, the tears started to pour out.  They're still coming.  It's sinking in - all the stress,  the fear.  The virus isn't the only life-and-death going on around us this week.  I'll spare you the details, but there's a lot of grief around us.

I so love to live on the "resurrection" side of Mary Magdalene's life, but she got to that life and that message only by going through the Passion with Jesus and with the other disciples.  This week I'm turning to her, not as the "apostle" but as the beloved companion who is afraid and grieving.  I pray the psalms and hear her.  I sit in meditation and feel her next to me.  And I ask her to show me how to be in this place.  What I get is: tears.  prayers.

This is the truth of where we are.  Most of us cannot help in ways that feel adequate.  We can encourage one another, but we also need the room to be the one who needs encouragement.  I give thanks for my companions, and for all of you.  And I give thanks for my tears, as my back and arm release.

Lord have mercy on us.

We Now Interrupt This Crisis . . .

OK, people, listen up.

We're in this for the long haul.  Shelves are emptying, houses are full of people and products.  Jobs are lost or in suspension, or being worked in new ways.  Nerves are strained.  Phew!

But here's what I want to know:

For what are you grateful today?

Five things, right now.  Write them down.

Where have you seen God at work in the past 24 hours?  Write it down.

Now, send it to someone.

Do it again tomorrow.

Don't overwhelm people with email; I know that's part of our stress.  But do share.

I'm grateful that we decided years ago to use Free Conference Call and Zoom to connect, so now I can help others.
I'm grateful for the sunshine today.
I'm grateful for a Companion in residence who is sane and mature, so we aren't killing each other.
I'm grateful for all my Companions, and companions, and family.
I'm grateful for my sobriety and abstinence, so I'm not panicking over not having access to my "drugs."

I saw God yesterday in an online group of leaders looking for creative ways to contribute to others.
I saw God in the train engineer who waved at me when I waved at him.
There's so much more!

So, pass it on.
Breathe.  Laugh.

Fear Not: Love Much

Of course you already know what I'm writing about.  As COVID-19 spreads, everyone is scrambling - not to stop it, but to slow it down enough for the health care system to avoid collapse.  I have one friend with the virus and another in quarantine, and each day it creeps closer to home.  Dario, one of our Companions, has friends and family in Italy.  He's watching with horror as doctors have to make terrible decisions in the wake of insufficient ventilators.

Last night we had our weekly Companions call, and we talked about what the tradition has to say about our situation.  I mentioned a conversation with a friend who believes that being afraid is unfaithful.  She cited "perfect love casts out fear."  I could cite the many times angels say, "Be not afraid."  But this is a distortion.  I believe they say that precisely because fear is normal and often appropriate.  It takes a leap to go forward, but it's not so much erasing fear as going ahead in spite of it.

Love is our most powerful tool (if we can call it a tool) for doing that, but being afraid does not, I believe, mean that my love is lacking.  The question is, what is love calling me to in the midst of the fear?

Other Companions cited the Biblical command to love one another, to care for the sick and the outcast.  They are looking for ways to contribute to others.  We talked about stranded students, isolated elderly, those who rely on food pantries that are closing.  I'm encouraged to hear about the many ways people are creating to take care of one another.  Dario is contributing by his research into viral sequencing (have I got that right, Dario?).

So today, after doing a massive grocery run, I'm pondering how I can contribute.  I am not sure yet where I can put my physical self to make a difference, but I know I can try to be a calm and loving presence.  In the grocery store I kept telling people, "we are going to be alright."  Yes, most of us are likely to get this thing, and for most of us it will be like any unpleasant virus.  We need to take extraordinary measures for the sake of those who are at high risk.

I'd love to hear what you are doing to love others in this time of fear.  Are you helping by showing up, or by staying away?  Are you donating to organizations that can do what you cannot?  Are you calling shut-ins?

And what do you need?  Do you need some contact with others?  I can do that.  Email me.
Perhaps you'll find that your greatest need is in fact to help someone else, to overcome the sense of helplessness.

Breathe.  God is here, in the midst of it all.  Love much.

Frederick Douglass: Now More Than Ever!

I was delighted to sit down at Matins today and find that the Episcopal Church is remembering F
Frederick Douglass.  Then I was even more delighted when I went to the monastery for Eucharist and found that they have included him in their calendar.

It would be important to remember Douglass at any time.  His fight for freedom and dignity, his challenge to the churches that did not disavow slavery, inspires me - I hope inspires all of us - to stand against contemporary slavery and oppression.

Oh yes, slavery is alive and well.  It's thriving all over the world, including the United States.  We sometimes call it human trafficking now, but it's the same phenomenon.  Women, men, children either outright abducted, seduced, or misled into positions of helplessness, often under threat to themselves or those they love, locked in and sometimes chained; millions of people are enslaved today.  They work in so many of our booming industries, legal and illegal.  Labor sectors such as domestic service and migrant labor operate with virtually no legal protection, and slavery thrives there.  Our prisons have become mass slave plantations.  Life-long citizens and immigrants are all potential victims.

The Church of England has launched the Clewer Initiative to challenge and eradicate modern slavery.  I'm pleased to say that the Community of St. John Baptist in New Jersey has joined this initiative.  If you want to learn more, start here: https://www.theclewerinitiative.org.

In the U.S. many groups are engaged in this work.  Start with the Polaris Project:
https://polarisproject.org.

As the tide of racism and nationalism rises in the U.S. and around the world, the memory of those who have fought before becomes every more precious.

Almighty God, we bless your Name for the witness of Frederick Douglass, whose impassioned and reasonable speech moved the hearts of people to a deeper obedience to Christ: Strengthen us also to speak on behalf of those in captivity and tribulation, continuing in the way of Jesus Christ our Liberator; who with you and the Holy Spirit dwells in glory everlasting.  Amen.

Your Life as Story

I went to an amazing workshop this weekend.  For years people have said I should write a memoir, and I've tried, then stopped.  This year it finally felt like time - but I don't know anything about creative writing, I'm afraid of being a boring writer, blah blah.  But I decided to commit.  I told my family, and my brother and his wife offered space for me to write next fall.  Then I saw that Beverly D'Onofrio was leading a workshop on memoir writing at Holy Cross.  I held my breath, cancelled two commitments (huge for me), and signed up.

I was terrified.  We had some powerful writers in there, with wonderful rich stories.  I made the cardinal mistake of comparing my writing to theirs, and became convinced again I couldn't do it.  I ran to my room and texted Elizabeth, then I went to lunch.  I told another participant my fear, and she shared hers, and I found my footing again.  I not only had a desire to write, I had a community of writers.

Now I desperately want to write.  I'm looking for the slot in my schedule that will let this become a habit.  I'm pondering setting it up as a separate blog, so I share some of it (assuaging my guilt for not writing here more often).  I have other writing commitments for a while, but I need to start.  15 minutes a day becomes a habit.

Our teacher told us that writing actually heals memories, moving them from the right side of the brain to the left, like EMDR.  That's fascinating, and attractive.  I want to see what happens as I write.

I believe God is in this.  My whole life story is about God finding me and dragging me toward the light.  I believe I have a story that can help others.  But I also know I can slide away from this task simply by not making a new habit.  So I ask your prayers for me to build these muscles and reflexes, to need to write.  And know that I am praying for all of us to find our voices and let God's love flow through us.

God bless you and keep you, and God give you the courage to see and share your story.

Ministry

This is less a reflection than an update, for those of you who follow the Companions.  The forms of my reflection lately have been geared to present ministry.  Sermons, retreat preparation, meetings have been the product of my creative juices.

So: Since I last wrote I've been to San Francisco for the annual board meeting of the Mastery Foundation, a wonderful group dedicated to strengthening the ministry of those who serve others and to working with leaders in places where religion is a source of division.  It's a long way to go to be with people for two days, but it's so enlivening just to be with them that I go.

We spent most of January serving the people of St. Andrew's Episcopal Church in New Paltz.  Their new priest arrives this week, and we are very excited for them.  In the meantime, we've been taking turns supplying there.

Then, last weekend Elizabeth went to an advanced training for Respectful Confrontation, a group dedicated to giving people skills to talk honestly and deeply.  As I've learned, confrontation isn't just about conflict; it is just as confronting to honor and acknowledge people.  (For some of us it's harder to hear praise than criticism or complaint!). That same weekend I went to my diocesan convention in Newark NJ.

But wait, there's more!  This weekend I go to a retreat on memoir writing, beginning a process I'm committed to but terrified about.  I come home, and 3 hours later Elizabeth leaves for two weeks in Israel as the chaplain to a women's pilgrimage.  Then I go off to lead a retreat for the junior class at Berkeley Divinity School.  Thank God for our friends who love to stay here with Shadow!  Thank God for our Coffee Table Companions, who continue to meet whether we are here or not.

Sometimes when we go through these busy periods our friends get worried.  And I don't want to be this busy all the time.  But right now I have a strong feeling that we are being used, and that we are developing skills that will serve us and the Companions in the future.  I hope my writing will inspire others.  I see the results of Elizabeth's confrontation work, as our communication gets stronger and easier.  I love sharing the tools of Mastery with others.  It's all an expression of the Companions charism.

Please pray for us during this busy time.  Pray especially for Elizabeth and her companions, and for the students I will be meeting with.  We are always in the presence of the Holy One, but we need to take time to notice that and to encourage one another.

Thank you for following us, and praying for us.  Thank you for all the ways you serve others.  May you be blessed with ease and flow in all you do today.  Amen.

Cain continued and intensified

Today's first reading tells of Cain and his descendants.  Once again I'm stopped.  I'm struck by the way the best and worst of human culture spring up together.  Cain's offspring generate herding and music and metallurgy.  But at the same time, they move even deeper into violence.

Lamech, the great-great-great-grandson of Cain, boasts to his wives of killing a man for wounding him.  He says, "If Cain is avenged sevenfold, truly Lamech seventy-sevenfold." (Gen 4:24). So vengeance is the name of the game now, and the question is, how much is enough?

Later, Jesus will counsel Peter that forgiving seven times isn't enough; we need to forgive seventy-seven times, or even seventy times seven.  Jesus undoes the knot that is drawing more and more tightly around humanity.  He doesn't limit the vengeance, as the Torah will do (no more than what has been done to you, and eye for an eye); he goes right to the root of the problem, the assumption that vengeance will help.

Of course, there's a good reason for Torah rules.  What do you do with people who just don't understand that vengeance won't satisfy?  Sometimes all you can do is hope they will be content with "getting even."  But it's tricky.  My perception of what is enough, what is "even," may not be so trustworthy when I'm hurt.  That's why we need counselors, advisors, judges.  But once we've begun to relate to one another that way, it's hard to hang on to our basic shared status as beloved children of God.  That's why the Christian Scriptures and many later movements are so critical of believers taking one another to court.  By the time we need to go to court, we're already off track.  And yet, we can't pretend that we will always stay on track.  This dilemma has dogged us for millennia, and today I'm reminded that it's built into our humanity.

We humans are capable of great beauty and creativity.  We are also capable of degradation and violence far in excess of anything other animals do.  We can follow Jesus' path, but we also have the freedom -and often the limited vision - to follow Lamech.

Which way are you going today?  God, please help me follow Jesus.

And yes, I want to know: what was the name of Cain's wife?