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Thursday, September 21, 2017
More Foolish Wisdom, or Wise Foolishness
Paul has been continuing his theme of wisdom, but with a twist. After naming his message as foolishness, he says that he does indeed speak wisdom, "though it is not a wisdom of this age or of the rulers of this age" (1 Cor. 2:6). He speaks "God's wisdom, secret and hidden," given to him and to us through the Spirit.
Now, I am not a fan of esoteric doctrines or practices. There's something there that sounds to me like exactly the kind of siren call that got the Corinthians in trouble, a lure away from humility and compassion to some sort of specialness. But here the paradox of Christianity reveals itself again.
This secret and hidden wisdom is precisely the message of the cross. Let go. Stop judging one another. Trust God past the bounds of reason. This is not esoteric knowledge, which, as he says, "puffs up" (8:1); "anyone who claims to know something does not yet have the necessary knowledge" (8:2). Just when I think I know the message of the Gospel, it escapes me! Just when I'm ready to grasp it, it slips away. I can only receive it in humility and patience.
I can't make a program out of this wisdom, this foolishness. If I deliberately act like a fool to make a point about God, I'm claiming to know God's mind. My "foolishness" is calculated and performed, a mask I've put on rather than a way of being with God. So foolishness is never mine to claim, any more than wisdom is. I have to lay aside my judgments of myself as well as others.
So what is left for me to do? A lot. Live my life. Do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with God. If I do that, I won't have time to worry about how I'm doing! Oh, it's easier to examine myself and castigate myself for my failings than it is to live differently; but it's not nearly as rewarding.
So no questions for reflection. Just go. Do, love, walk.
God be with you.
Tuesday, September 19, 2017
Foolish Wisdom
I'm trying to come back to my normal routines after a month consumed with moving. I'm glad to finally have a desk again, and a chance to reflect on Scripture.
A small joke on me: Elizabeth and I have been reading through the World Wisdom Bible and the Epistles at Matins, rather than following the Episcopal office lectionary. We're at the fourth chapter of First Corinthians. Elizabeth has left for her long retreat, then I go away, so we agreed that while we're apart we will read the lectionary so we don't miss anything we want to discuss. So this morning I opened the reading book, and we're starting First Corinthians! I guess that's what I'm supposed to be reading these days.
And Paul reminds me again, in 1 Cor. 1:20-31, of the foolishness of the cross. He doesn't pretend it makes sense by the standards of the world. But he does call it the wisdom and power of God for those who are called to it. I'm not going to go into who is called, or why we aren't all called. But I'm pretty sure I'm called, because I experience the joy of this foolishness. I revel in the crazy love of God, a love that makes me do crazy things.
What is the difference between the foolishness that is of God and just plain craziness? It may seem that we can distinguish by the fruit, but that can be elusive. If God's foolishness is wisdom, then it may be hard to judge whether the "fruit" of my life is sweet or sour. Can it be as simple as listening for feelings of desolation or consolation? No, because these can be influenced by many factors.
I think it may not be for me, for us, to judge this. There may be community norms and understandings that help us see where we are flourishing and where we are in danger, but the real edge of Godly foolishness is likely to be where the norms are less secure and less binding. Then we meet the real power of God, in trust and faithfulness. We do our best, and pray: God, keep me close. Whatever happens, let me know your presence and your love.
As we begin our adventure in a new place, the bills are mounting up. The work load is bigger, household tasks multiply. Fear can creep in. But this whole ride these past five years have been one long exercise in foolish trust. What a great life!
Where are you being called to foolishness? Where is your wisdom constraining your vision? Pray God for the courage to live in God's wisdom and power. And let me know what you find!
A small joke on me: Elizabeth and I have been reading through the World Wisdom Bible and the Epistles at Matins, rather than following the Episcopal office lectionary. We're at the fourth chapter of First Corinthians. Elizabeth has left for her long retreat, then I go away, so we agreed that while we're apart we will read the lectionary so we don't miss anything we want to discuss. So this morning I opened the reading book, and we're starting First Corinthians! I guess that's what I'm supposed to be reading these days.
And Paul reminds me again, in 1 Cor. 1:20-31, of the foolishness of the cross. He doesn't pretend it makes sense by the standards of the world. But he does call it the wisdom and power of God for those who are called to it. I'm not going to go into who is called, or why we aren't all called. But I'm pretty sure I'm called, because I experience the joy of this foolishness. I revel in the crazy love of God, a love that makes me do crazy things.
What is the difference between the foolishness that is of God and just plain craziness? It may seem that we can distinguish by the fruit, but that can be elusive. If God's foolishness is wisdom, then it may be hard to judge whether the "fruit" of my life is sweet or sour. Can it be as simple as listening for feelings of desolation or consolation? No, because these can be influenced by many factors.
I think it may not be for me, for us, to judge this. There may be community norms and understandings that help us see where we are flourishing and where we are in danger, but the real edge of Godly foolishness is likely to be where the norms are less secure and less binding. Then we meet the real power of God, in trust and faithfulness. We do our best, and pray: God, keep me close. Whatever happens, let me know your presence and your love.
As we begin our adventure in a new place, the bills are mounting up. The work load is bigger, household tasks multiply. Fear can creep in. But this whole ride these past five years have been one long exercise in foolish trust. What a great life!
Where are you being called to foolishness? Where is your wisdom constraining your vision? Pray God for the courage to live in God's wisdom and power. And let me know what you find!
Back and Forth
I'm horrified to see that I haven't written on this page for over a month. Our Facebook page has done slightly better, but I just left you all behind. So if you don't get our newsletter, here are the headlines:
We moved back to West Park NY, right next door to the Holy Cross Monastery, on the same road we lived on before. We are renting from the Church of the Ascension. It's great to be back, though moving is hard. We hope and pray that we will be here for many years.
Dario Ghersi made his first annual commitment as a Covenant Companion on August 11, at the end of our annual retreat. We are excited for him and for us, as he moves more deeply into shared leadership of the Companions. His commitment was witnessed by the Coffee Table Communion community, which has become its own entity without our planning - the Holy Spirit doing more than we can plan!
Our covenant groups are evolving to enable people to better live the covenant in their particular locations and lives. The format will be changing, and we will be able to accommodate more people. The new group meets beginning in February, and each group will meet monthly for a year at a time before members decide whether and how to continue with the Companions. More details on this will come soon.
That's the big news. I pledge to return to regular reflection soon. I will have a week's vacation soon, so I can't promise full speed yet; I just want you to know I appreciate your reading and praying for us. If there's anything on your mind and heart, anything that needs prayers, let me know. May God bless you and keep you.
We moved back to West Park NY, right next door to the Holy Cross Monastery, on the same road we lived on before. We are renting from the Church of the Ascension. It's great to be back, though moving is hard. We hope and pray that we will be here for many years.
Dario Ghersi made his first annual commitment as a Covenant Companion on August 11, at the end of our annual retreat. We are excited for him and for us, as he moves more deeply into shared leadership of the Companions. His commitment was witnessed by the Coffee Table Communion community, which has become its own entity without our planning - the Holy Spirit doing more than we can plan!
Our covenant groups are evolving to enable people to better live the covenant in their particular locations and lives. The format will be changing, and we will be able to accommodate more people. The new group meets beginning in February, and each group will meet monthly for a year at a time before members decide whether and how to continue with the Companions. More details on this will come soon.
That's the big news. I pledge to return to regular reflection soon. I will have a week's vacation soon, so I can't promise full speed yet; I just want you to know I appreciate your reading and praying for us. If there's anything on your mind and heart, anything that needs prayers, let me know. May God bless you and keep you.
Sunday, August 6, 2017
Transfiguration Contemplation
Readings for the Transfiguration:
Exodus 34:29-35; Psalm 99; 2 Peter 1:13-21; Luke 9:28-36
Today, the Feast of the Transfiguration, is my favorite feast after Easter and Mary Mag Day. This is the day when Jesus shines forth in glory, just for a moment, just enough to dazzle and baffle the three with him. This is the day of contemplation.
Since my retreat last month I've been thinking about contemplation, "contemplative life," and contemplative vocation. For years when people called me "a contemplative," I'd bristle. I'd object, I'd refuse. I think I heard "enclosed." Behind that I heard "lazy" or "selfish." I'd say we were contemplatives in action, or mixing traditions, or whatever, but I refused the label "contemplative."
Now, I do have problems with nouns. To call someone "a contemplative" seems too simple and sweeping, like so many labels. What do you know about someone when you use a noun like that? What do you overlook or refuse to see, because it doesn't fit the picture you have of that noun? I still don't want to say "I'm a contemplative." I'm a beloved child of God who -
has a contemplative vocation. There, I said it. I first entered religious life 17 years ago looking to pray, to know God, to share that with others. I had no sense of ministry beyond that. It was, I told people, the first really selfish decision I made in my life. I did not ask what my family would think, what my friends or my mentors would think. They thought I was crazy. I didn't ask what would make me financially secure. I wanted to know God.
So here I sit. Sometimes I walk, or cook, or eat, or laugh uproariously. Sometimes I play the drums or sing. But I pray, in all of these ways and others. And my world is ordered by the call to pray. This is what I do.
Contemplation has been described as a long loving look at the real. The Transfiguration reminds us that the "real" is not just the empirical, the visible or measurable. The glory of God that lies at the heart of everything is the real. In contemplation we catch a glimpse of that glory in the midst of the daily. The glorious dishes. The glorious bathroom needing cleaning. The glorious neighbor and glorious enemy. All is transfigured, showing its glory.
And then a thought comes through: "What's for dinner?" "When are they going to call me?" Whatever. The glory is there too. I can't stand to be face to face with it for long, but I know it's there. When I close my eyes I can feel the light on my eyelids. I breathe in God. I breathe out peace. In my little clay jar I carry the light, and I see your light. And that's enough.
Friday, August 4, 2017
Success? Failure!
Just after our July newsletter went out, we heard from the latest bank. They turned us down for a mortgage loan. We're too new, too small to take a chance on. They suggested another place that works with churches, but we aren't really a church. One of our great gifts - the fact that we are outside easy boxes - is a liability when dealing with the financial establishment.
At first I was really sad and discouraged. Not discouraged about our community or my vocation or about whether God is with us, but discouraged on that human level, the ego level. I want things to be moving upward and outward! I want to show you all that we are growing and on to something! Blah blah blah. My poor ego was crying.
Then we talked with one of our mentors who reminded us of Jung's great maxim: success for the ego is failure for the Self; failure for the ego is success for the Self. Sounds sort of like Jesus, who humbled himself to show us the glorious possibilities of humanity. And it's true: I have grown from occasional successes, I've come to feel more capable or secure and able to be more generous, but my greatest growth has come from the times I've "failed." When I hit the wall, hit bottom, hit the dead end, that's when compassion and wisdom and trust and faithfulness can grow. My ego always thinks it's a bad thing, but on a deeper level I know it's an opening.
So we are back to looking for rentals. We could try to force this, but it doesn't feel right. We have never been really certain we should be owners anyway. I am certain that forced solutions are never as creative or fruitful as the ones that come when I let go.
This Sunday we celebrate the feast of the Transfiguration. Jesus and his companions had a glimpse of glory, but it came with the message of crucifixion and dwelling in the depths. It was not an easy message to hear, I'm sure, and not an easy message to share. "You must lose your life to save it." "I have to go die in order to rise again." Success for the ego is failure for the Self.
So today I'm sort of grateful we got turned down. If we had been approved we'd be off searching for something that may not belong to us. Instead I got the gift of coming back, of knowing that all is well whatever is going on on the surface level. And I get the gift of being open to greater glory than I can imagine or engineer. I think I got the better deal.
Blessings on all your endeavors. May they open you to God in new and unexpected ways!
At first I was really sad and discouraged. Not discouraged about our community or my vocation or about whether God is with us, but discouraged on that human level, the ego level. I want things to be moving upward and outward! I want to show you all that we are growing and on to something! Blah blah blah. My poor ego was crying.
Then we talked with one of our mentors who reminded us of Jung's great maxim: success for the ego is failure for the Self; failure for the ego is success for the Self. Sounds sort of like Jesus, who humbled himself to show us the glorious possibilities of humanity. And it's true: I have grown from occasional successes, I've come to feel more capable or secure and able to be more generous, but my greatest growth has come from the times I've "failed." When I hit the wall, hit bottom, hit the dead end, that's when compassion and wisdom and trust and faithfulness can grow. My ego always thinks it's a bad thing, but on a deeper level I know it's an opening.
So we are back to looking for rentals. We could try to force this, but it doesn't feel right. We have never been really certain we should be owners anyway. I am certain that forced solutions are never as creative or fruitful as the ones that come when I let go.
This Sunday we celebrate the feast of the Transfiguration. Jesus and his companions had a glimpse of glory, but it came with the message of crucifixion and dwelling in the depths. It was not an easy message to hear, I'm sure, and not an easy message to share. "You must lose your life to save it." "I have to go die in order to rise again." Success for the ego is failure for the Self.
So today I'm sort of grateful we got turned down. If we had been approved we'd be off searching for something that may not belong to us. Instead I got the gift of coming back, of knowing that all is well whatever is going on on the surface level. And I get the gift of being open to greater glory than I can imagine or engineer. I think I got the better deal.
Blessings on all your endeavors. May they open you to God in new and unexpected ways!
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