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.

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!

In case you don't get our newsletter via email, here's July's news.  Enjoy!

http://conta.cc/2eQGiaU

More Seeds, plus a few other images

Sunday Scriptures:
1 Kings 3:5-12; Psalm 119:129-136; Romans 8:26-39; Matthew 13:31-33, 44-52

When you've got this reading from Romans, who needs more?  But we get more.  Much more.

If you've been reading here lately, you've heard me talking to myself about putting aside ideas of success or impact in favor of being faithful and trusting.  If you got our newsletter yesterday, you might have heard a plaintive note: why isn't anyone else coming to join us?  Again the conclusion: not my business.  My job is to be faithful to this gift.

Sandra Schneiders framed her masterwork on the religious life around the parable of the treasure in the field.  It could as easily have been the pearl.  Those of us who follow this call know that we've found the big one, the treasure of treasures.  It's worth all we have.

Of course, there are other pearls and other vocations.  Someone called to family life might find that pearl in their spouse and children.  Others will find it in their work or ministry.  Blessed are those who find their treasure, and who do what it takes to claim it.

Pedro Arrupe, former Superior General of the Jesuits, wrote this about vocation:

"Nothing is more practical than finding God, that is, than falling in love in a quite absolute, final way.  What you are in love with, what seizes your imagination, will affect everything.  It will decide what will get you out of bed in the morning, what you will do with your evenings, how you spend your weekends, what you read, who you know, what breaks your heart, and what amazes you with joy and gratitude.

Fall in love, stay in love, and it will decide everything."

Mustard seeds that grow into huge bushes.
Leaven that makes a whole loaf grow.
Pearls beyond price, treasure worth our all.

That's what I'm after, for me and for you.

And, as Paul says, it's all there waiting for us.  Nothing can separate us from the love of God.  We can turn our backs and pretend not to see, but God is there.  Offering treasure in tiny packages.

What are you in love with?

Why I Hike in Silence

One of the gifts of our location is proximity to beautiful mountain nature preserves.  Lately I've been hiking as often as I can, usually once a week.  We have several friends who also love to hike, but mostly I go alone.  I feel a little guilty about that, so I decided to clarify why I choose it.

It's not that I don't love my friends.  I love getting together over coffee or tea.  But I'm not so good at being aware of more than one thing at a time.  I can listen to you, or I can notice the world around me, but I can't really do both.  When I go to the woods (or meadows, or wherever), I am listening for God in the birds and the wind.  I'm clearing out my mind enough to notice the amazing world around me.  I hike as a way to God.

When I first set out I tend to move quickly.  My strides are full of purpose, or at least direction.  I usually have a chant or a hymn running around my brain, and it sets my pace.  I may spend an hour just burning off excess energy.  During that time I'm appreciating that I'm in a beautiful place, but I'm not fully there yet.

Then I begin to slow down, internally and externally.  I know it's happening because I start to notice the mushrooms and fungi, in their huge variety.  I see flowers I've never seen before.  I notice rock formations, and plants growing out of rock.  Time slows down, and I am present.  Wonder emerges.

If I'm working on an idea, a sermon or a retreat, this is the time when I start to have new ideas.  Some angle or connection shows up, like a play on words that reveals something about the topic.  That's another sign that I'm emptying out and letting in fresh spirit.

This is a precious process to me.  I have always had a walking practice as part of my writing process, for 30 years, though I didn't plan it at the beginning.  Later, walking became part of my prayer practice as well.  And sometimes writing is prayer for me, as I do this blog.  This topic came to me in the woods, as I thought about my desire to be silent.

It's not really that I need to be alone in the woods.  It's rather that I need the silence.  Sometimes Elizabeth and I will hike in silence, and that's fine.  I've led silent hiking retreats.  But most people like to talk and hike.  I just don't.  I feel like I'm missing the big show around us.  It's nice, but there's something bigger than nice waiting for me out there.  I'd rather talk to you when we aren't moving through amazing creation.

So to my friends, please believe: I want to see you and talk to you!  Just not here.
To those I don't know, dear readers, I pray that you find and return to the places and practices (including conversation) that give you access to God with us.  Bless the Lord, O my soul!

Happy Mary Magdalene Day!

We are in the throes of preparation for our annual celebration this afternoon, so this writing will be brief.  Each year, however, my gratitude grows.  Mary is the patron saint of converts, and that's me.  So many times!

On this day in 1985 I began my journey of 12-step recovery.   That was a conversion, a turning from life to death.  I didn't know it was Mary's day; I didn't know much about Mary.  But she was there.

I've had other conversions before and after.  There was the one at age 15 where I stopped doing drugs, when I realized I would die soon if I didn't stop.  There was the one where I began to seek help for the pain in me.  There was the one when I let Jesus love me, and let myself love Jesus.  There were so many others.

Our vows call us to continual conversion of life.  And  in this they are not unique to monastics; they are part of our baptismal covenant, in which we commit to turn to Christ over and over.  Likely if you read this blog you have experienced these conversions in your life.

As Mary reminds us, the root of conversion is love.  God loves us and calls us to life, and some part of us responds.  Our ability to love many be imperfect, but we are driven by the love we find to love more.

The result of conversion is deeper love.  Every new place turns out to be a way station.  There's another frontier of love waiting for us to say yes.  Mary likely thought that being with Jesus while he was alive was the ultimate gift, until she found him again in the garden.  Then who knows?  Who knows what deeper love she experienced after his ascension?  Legends abound, but the mystery of more is deeper than any answer.  "The love of Christ urges us on" (2 Cor. 5:14).

The love Christ has for us, the love we have for Christ - these never fail, never end, never diminish.  We can forget for a time and turn away, but Christ's love calls us.  Nothing can separate us from that love.

Give thanks this day for all your conversions, all the loves you have known, all the joy and the pain that have come to you on the way.  And give thanks for what is to come, for the deeper joy that awaits us.  God bless you all.

Making A Difference

Today I walked in the woods for two hours.  As I walked, I thought of the common request in nature preserves: "Leave no trace."  We are asked to leave the place as we found it, with no evidence that we have passed that way.  No garbage, no graffiti, neither adding to the place nor taking from it.  Leave no trace, for creation is just as it is and it is fine.

Then I thought of the advice so often given to young people setting out: "Make your mark."  In this case, we are urged to give evidence of our passing.  Leaving no trace is treated as a failure.

What are we to make of this contrast?  At first I thought about the difference between "creation," God's amazing ongoing art project, and "the world," which Jesus and the tradition caution us about.  "The world" is a human product (perhaps with some help from the downstairs bunch), which blinds us to God and to creation.  In fact, "the world" is often the destroyer of creation.  So perhaps we are meant to leave no trace in creation, but this fallen world in which we find ourselves needs our help?

I don't think this is wrong, but there's more than that.  When we are urged to "make our mark" it isn't always a matter of improving the world.  Sometimes it's just the ego trying to reassure itself of immortality.  I may die, but people will know I was here!  And before I die, they will assure me that my life wasn't in vain, that I wasn't ordinary, that I won't be forgotten.  And so I work and strive and strain, not to make the world a better place but simply to make it bear my imprint.  In fact, those who seek to make their mark, rather than working for a better world, will either actively distort and destroy or they will limit their impact by following the call of popularity or fame or reward.

I could go from here to a whole meditation on death and our inevitable fading from view.  In the woods that's just where I went.  Maybe for Ash Wednesday I'll go there.  Maybe you'll go there now.  But I want to look for the creative place instead.

I co-lead a workshop called Making A Difference, for people who minister and serve others.  It aims at helping people clear away the clutter in their minds that stands between them and the life they are called to.  One of the things we do there is help them to see that they already are making a difference, but that may be invisible to them because they've set up criteria for what counts.  And likely they've confused making a difference with making their mark.

Often when we make a difference we can't plan it and we can't repeat it.  Something we say or do simply lands with someone else and opens up new possibility or heals old wounds.  It's not a technique or a project.  And often we don't even know we made a difference, unless someone tells us later.  We may think we have left no trace.  But speech and action always leave traces, intended or not.  The traces may not have our names on it, they may never return to gratify our ego, but they are real.

If you are trying to make your mark, let go.  I speak as an old mark-maker on the journey to leaving traces instead.  Listen for what is needed, what you can bring.  If that is nothing, as in the woods, leave no trace and give thanks for the abundance of creation.  If you have a contribution to make, make it.  But no marks.  No graffiti, no litter.  Just gratitude and joy and compassion.  We will notice the difference you make.  God be with you.

For more on the workshop, go to Making A Difference.