Among my collection envelopes for my parish, there is a Burse Club envelope that I have ignored, mostly because I was unfamiliar with the term. When I googled Burse Club, I found the following prayer:
Lord Jesus Christ, eternal high priest, manifest in
our local Church the Spirit whom you also
abundantly bestowed on your apostles. Call many young men from our
parishes for service as priests. May zeal for your glory and for the
salvation of souls inflame those you have chosen. May they be holy men
who will be strengthened by your Spirit. May they be priests according
to your heart. Amen
As I read this, I felt the last three sentences (sans "men") applied
to all of us. I pray it for all. May you and I act as lay
priests to one another, being Christ for one another, encouraging and
comforting one another, giving one another peace.
Peace I leave you.
May we all bring more peace into the new year 2012.
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Thursday, December 8, 2011
Exploring the Consequences of the Original N-Word
There is an N-word that’s more diabolical than nigga. I’ve understood the disrespectful, hateful,
racial tone of the use of nigger since I was a child I was raised to respect all people,
therefore I’ve never used it other than to discuss its disregard for human
life, the Declaration of independence (all men are created equal), and the
Bible (“So God created mankind in his own image, in the image of God he
created them; male and female he created them,”
Genesis 1:26-27; “Love your neighbor as yourself,” Jesus commanded in Matt. 22:39).
When the N-word is used in a hateful manner, it is sin, for
hate is sin, as is anything that breaks our connection to the Source of all
love, God.
There is an N-word
I use both in thought, word, and deed that has terrible consequences. It is a powerful word that always involves choice. It is the original N-word, a word that turns
our will against another’s. It can be ignored but not mistaken. It can be misunderstood and rejected. It is often difficult to accept upon hearing.
It is spoken to God regularly Who views
it as mercifully as the other N-word, knowing it comes from minds with limited
capacity to understand or embrace that which it fears.
By my actions, I have used this word in what I have done and
in what I have failed to do. It tourniquets
the flow of God’s grace. With it, I’ve
slammed mental doors and hardened my heart like a stone. I am often in fear of it should others choose to
use it, and find it irritating or comical, depending on my mood, when toddlers
spew it.
While a necessary use of it keeps evil away, when spoken to
God, it puts us in whiteout conditions: cold and unable to find our way. I know what I know when I say no. When I say it to God, however, I know not
enough. I love not enough.
Saturday, November 5, 2011
Abiding
“Abide in me as I abide in you.” Jesus speaks these words in John 15 in the well known “I am the vine, you are the branches” parable of which songs and poems have been written over the centuries. I like metaphors and I therefore always loved the rich imagery of God as the vinegrower and pruner. I never paid much attention to His command to abide.
Theologian and storyteller Dr. Meg McKenna references this abiding in her introduction to Harm Not the Earth. The verb “abide” is used eleven times in the first eleven verses of John 15. “It is a very religious and biblical word, and one that is not often used in familiar conversation. It means: to tolerate, endure, act in accordance with, remain faithful to (as in a promise). One always abides ‘in’ – it isn’t something one does alone.”
That puts a whole new spin on Jesus’ “wherever two or more are gathered in my name.” He promises His presence with certainty when two or more people pray together. He’s also present when I am alone in prayer without another person, for He is one and I am one and we are one together.
Ever since I read her words several days ago, I've been struck with Jesus' side of abiding in our relationship; what he is tolerating and enduring me the way spouses and friends tolerate and endure each other's idiosyncracies and stubbornnesses; and how He is "acting in accordance with" who I am being and how far I am allowing Him into my heart and life. If I can expand my time with Him, He can expand His work through me. If I can open more of my heart to Him, He can increase my compassionate response to all who my words, my glance, my touch, my voice can reach. In truth, they are His words, glance, touch, and voice to begin with for I am His. He will act in accordance with what I give Him.
When my children were growing up, we'd call them into the front room away from the rest of the house when we wished to speak to them privately. They were always a bit nervous when we did so, for their immediate fear was they'd done something wrong and were about to be chastised. Our response to Jesus when He says, "Come to me (all you who are weary)" is often the same. Our desired conversation with our children was certainly sometimes to correct an approach they were choosing, but more times, it was an encouragement, a suggestion of help with something that was challenging them, or a secret surprise we were planning for another family member.
"Abide in me" requires our choice to do so. He can abide in us only "in accordance with" how much we allow Him to do so. Our gift of free will is unretreivable; God will never take it away. It is eternally ours and honored by God. Our biggest challenge seems to be going to the front room without fear, in complete trust in the enormous gentleness and exquisiteness tenderness of love filled with mercy and faithfulness of the very One Who created us in the first place.
Theologian and storyteller Dr. Meg McKenna references this abiding in her introduction to Harm Not the Earth. The verb “abide” is used eleven times in the first eleven verses of John 15. “It is a very religious and biblical word, and one that is not often used in familiar conversation. It means: to tolerate, endure, act in accordance with, remain faithful to (as in a promise). One always abides ‘in’ – it isn’t something one does alone.”
That puts a whole new spin on Jesus’ “wherever two or more are gathered in my name.” He promises His presence with certainty when two or more people pray together. He’s also present when I am alone in prayer without another person, for He is one and I am one and we are one together.
Ever since I read her words several days ago, I've been struck with Jesus' side of abiding in our relationship; what he is tolerating and enduring me the way spouses and friends tolerate and endure each other's idiosyncracies and stubbornnesses; and how He is "acting in accordance with" who I am being and how far I am allowing Him into my heart and life. If I can expand my time with Him, He can expand His work through me. If I can open more of my heart to Him, He can increase my compassionate response to all who my words, my glance, my touch, my voice can reach. In truth, they are His words, glance, touch, and voice to begin with for I am His. He will act in accordance with what I give Him.
When my children were growing up, we'd call them into the front room away from the rest of the house when we wished to speak to them privately. They were always a bit nervous when we did so, for their immediate fear was they'd done something wrong and were about to be chastised. Our response to Jesus when He says, "Come to me (all you who are weary)" is often the same. Our desired conversation with our children was certainly sometimes to correct an approach they were choosing, but more times, it was an encouragement, a suggestion of help with something that was challenging them, or a secret surprise we were planning for another family member.
"Abide in me" requires our choice to do so. He can abide in us only "in accordance with" how much we allow Him to do so. Our gift of free will is unretreivable; God will never take it away. It is eternally ours and honored by God. Our biggest challenge seems to be going to the front room without fear, in complete trust in the enormous gentleness and exquisiteness tenderness of love filled with mercy and faithfulness of the very One Who created us in the first place.
Sunday, July 17, 2011
Forgiveness
We focus so long on the closed door - for example, anger we may be feeling - that we fail to notice the open window we can go through. Forgiveness is the open window, the escape from the room filled with hurt and anger in which we feel trapped. But we're not trapped at all really. We can leave any time. It is only our stubbornness or desire for revenge or apology that keeps us there.
God is like the firemen outside that window of the burning building of your anger.
"Jump. I'll catch you," He begs.
He will catch you. His arms are wider than the entire universe that we can conceive in our minds, and then some. He is our safety net. It is our choice always to either die in the flames or leap to safety, leaving the hot anger for Satan and his minions. It is always our choice.
My forgiveness felt like I was jumping on a trampoline. I'd let go, release myself from the fiery anger and leap into the safety net. Ga-boing! Next thing I knew, I was back on the edge of the window of the burning room. I'd actually, figuratively, walk back into the hot, burning room and walk around it, revisiting my anger. Then, I'd leap again and Ga-boing again.
"As soon as we understand something, we have to be detached from our understanding in order to keep abreast of the exquisite delicacies of the divine action," says Fr. Thomas Keating (Contemplative Outreach News, vol. 27, No. 2, June 2011). To be detached means letting go. God shows us this with His Divine Mercy, endlessly forgiving us our sins and insensitivities, our stubbornness and misbehaviors the way a gentle parent firmly guides and overlooks a two year old's bad behaviors, choosing to focus on how adorable she/he is when sleeping or cuddling or innocently observing life. We have a hard time understanding how God can forgive us because we think only of the "terrible" part of the terrible two's, or focus only on the number of dandelions in the grass instead of the thousands of beautiful blades of green grass before us. Likewise, in trying to forgive, we must choose to see the grass not the dandelions, see the beauty in the child at rest, not the behavior of the child who's overtired or overwhelmed.
Forgiveness begins with our consent to forgive and is completed by God's merciful grace that finishes the job and puts out the fire. It is always easier to dig out the root of one dandelion than to ignore it until it has spread its seeds far and wide. When we form the habit of daily prayer, Mass, or lectio divina, we give God the opportunity to purify us, to weed out our dandelions and keep our souls green and fertile, or if you prefer, filtering our muddy waters so His "divine light can penetrate to the bottom of our being." Keating
excerpt from my soon-to-be-published memoir, Leavened.
God is like the firemen outside that window of the burning building of your anger.
"Jump. I'll catch you," He begs.
He will catch you. His arms are wider than the entire universe that we can conceive in our minds, and then some. He is our safety net. It is our choice always to either die in the flames or leap to safety, leaving the hot anger for Satan and his minions. It is always our choice.
My forgiveness felt like I was jumping on a trampoline. I'd let go, release myself from the fiery anger and leap into the safety net. Ga-boing! Next thing I knew, I was back on the edge of the window of the burning room. I'd actually, figuratively, walk back into the hot, burning room and walk around it, revisiting my anger. Then, I'd leap again and Ga-boing again.
"As soon as we understand something, we have to be detached from our understanding in order to keep abreast of the exquisite delicacies of the divine action," says Fr. Thomas Keating (Contemplative Outreach News, vol. 27, No. 2, June 2011). To be detached means letting go. God shows us this with His Divine Mercy, endlessly forgiving us our sins and insensitivities, our stubbornness and misbehaviors the way a gentle parent firmly guides and overlooks a two year old's bad behaviors, choosing to focus on how adorable she/he is when sleeping or cuddling or innocently observing life. We have a hard time understanding how God can forgive us because we think only of the "terrible" part of the terrible two's, or focus only on the number of dandelions in the grass instead of the thousands of beautiful blades of green grass before us. Likewise, in trying to forgive, we must choose to see the grass not the dandelions, see the beauty in the child at rest, not the behavior of the child who's overtired or overwhelmed.
Forgiveness begins with our consent to forgive and is completed by God's merciful grace that finishes the job and puts out the fire. It is always easier to dig out the root of one dandelion than to ignore it until it has spread its seeds far and wide. When we form the habit of daily prayer, Mass, or lectio divina, we give God the opportunity to purify us, to weed out our dandelions and keep our souls green and fertile, or if you prefer, filtering our muddy waters so His "divine light can penetrate to the bottom of our being." Keating
excerpt from my soon-to-be-published memoir, Leavened.
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Loneliness fruit
We all have sacred, lonely moments when we yearn to be loved and wrapped in arms of protection and comfort. We long for the one person, or group of people who soothe our souls, who accept us for who we are, who desire to see us as much as we do them. Just as we use different prayer practices to reach out/in to God, He often uses lonely moments to encourage a connection to us. Our souls know instinctively these little invitations to God’s love because we feel the yearning - His touch on our soul - even when our heads or hearts do not recognize Who initiates it. Like the hairs on our arms that stand up in the presence of static electricity, souls leap to attention the moment they hear God’s whisper. It is inaudible to our earthly ears much as a dog whistle, yet the response is always one of instant alertness to something. We often look around, not recognizing what we “heard.” We ask others like Samuel asked Eli and none can answer us. If we stay attuned to these moments, however, we learn to recognize Him as a child learns its mother’s voice.
excerpt from my unpublished memoir Hook, Line and Sink Her.
excerpt from my unpublished memoir Hook, Line and Sink Her.
Friday, February 25, 2011
Discerning
"The goal of discerning is to reach purity of heart." Sr. Meg Funk
This is the place of still waters for me, where the waters of our sometimes agitated minds are stilled and we can see clearly what is reflected there, or (for me) hear the still, soft voice of Love Who speaks to my heart when I'm quiet enough to hear Him/Her.
I often resist the good, the God of all creation, because the egoic self is full of itself and thinks it can do without God, rationalizing sometimes: I don't want to bother Him; I can handle this. I loved Sr. Meg's expression: "Our back is to the window of grace.” In our moments of humility (some given to us so that we can hear or see our need for God), that resistance is melted by God's warm grace.
We must follow the impulse of grace... yes! And out praxes (e.g. Centering Prayer, Welcoming Prayer, Jesus Prayer, Guard of the Heart) makes this easier to do.
In my office, we removed a window to create an entrance door in its place. There is only 9 inches of a glass window that runs alongside this door. There is no other way for the light to get in. On days when the weather is warm, we leave the door open to allow more light and air in. On colder or hot, humid days when the door needs to be closed, I immediately pull the thin curtain back to allow daylight to enter the otherwise dark room. Recently, after pulling back the curtain time after time to let the light in, I rolled up the curtain and tied it on top. It will come down now only when the hot summer's sun needs to be blocked for a few hours to prevent the room from overheating (just as we walk between centering prayer sits to prevent the energy from becoming too intense within us).
Stand long enough in the light, and our entire being soon hungers for it deeply, desiring to turn toward it more and more often until one day, the curtain is pulled away forever.
This is the place of still waters for me, where the waters of our sometimes agitated minds are stilled and we can see clearly what is reflected there, or (for me) hear the still, soft voice of Love Who speaks to my heart when I'm quiet enough to hear Him/Her.
I often resist the good, the God of all creation, because the egoic self is full of itself and thinks it can do without God, rationalizing sometimes: I don't want to bother Him; I can handle this. I loved Sr. Meg's expression: "Our back is to the window of grace.” In our moments of humility (some given to us so that we can hear or see our need for God), that resistance is melted by God's warm grace.
We must follow the impulse of grace... yes! And out praxes (e.g. Centering Prayer, Welcoming Prayer, Jesus Prayer, Guard of the Heart) makes this easier to do.
In my office, we removed a window to create an entrance door in its place. There is only 9 inches of a glass window that runs alongside this door. There is no other way for the light to get in. On days when the weather is warm, we leave the door open to allow more light and air in. On colder or hot, humid days when the door needs to be closed, I immediately pull the thin curtain back to allow daylight to enter the otherwise dark room. Recently, after pulling back the curtain time after time to let the light in, I rolled up the curtain and tied it on top. It will come down now only when the hot summer's sun needs to be blocked for a few hours to prevent the room from overheating (just as we walk between centering prayer sits to prevent the energy from becoming too intense within us).
Stand long enough in the light, and our entire being soon hungers for it deeply, desiring to turn toward it more and more often until one day, the curtain is pulled away forever.
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