Seeking within instead of without

It was a thought from yesterday's sermon, that we tend to seek our security outside of ourselves instead within, where the real strength lies. The speaker referred to psalm 23, the psalm of the Good Shepherd. "Even though I walk in the valley of darkness, I fear no evil, for you are with me," the psalm says.

Not to fear in darkness, now that is a test of faith. I think sometimes that test is asking us, how much do I believe in myself? How strongly do I believe in God's presence? How much do I seek within instead of without?

I am lucky that I grew up with parents who trusted me. They used to ask me to do things I didn't think I could do. Only in looking back do I realize, they were challenging my own opinion of myself.

Perhaps this is the meaning of walking in the valley of darkness and not fearing evil. It is God's way of saying, you have greater strengths than you know, you are stronger than you realize. You have a David inside of yourself that can overtake any Goliath. You just need to reach down for those pebbles of faith and trust.

Psalm 23 has long puzzled me for its seeming contradictions. "I shall not want" along side "I fear no evil". I did not find either true for a long time. I did want, and I did fear the darkness. But maybe they are not meant to be opposite, but complimentary. Maybe it is the darkness that teaches me not to want, because it teaches me that what I need is not out there somewhere. It is right here inside of me. It has been here all along. I just looked for peace and security in the wrong places.

Jesus writing in the sand

Painting by Mary Grace Thul

Have you ever wondered why Jesus never left his disciples and followers and faithful friends anything in writing?  The only time we hear of Jesus writing at all, he is writing in sand. Hardly something that you can hand down. Even the writers of the Gospels cannot remember what he wrote that day, as the sand eventually became blown smooth by the wind...

Perhaps that is Jesus way of telling us, his spirit and his message is not static, cannot be held on to by pen and paper, is not something any amount of words can capture and accurately portray for all time. The spirit of Jesus cannot be contained between the covers of even the most beautiful book.

I think Jesus is telling us, take that word out of the book and plant it in my soul, where it can take root, spring forth, and bear fruit. I think I keep the spirit of Jesus alive when I understand it, not from my reading, but from my living. I think that the words of the Gospel are powerful only as far as they influence not just my thinking, but my choices.

That is what I think. What are your thoughts?

Reposting a popular title

[Sometimes I get tired of my own blog! Is that possible? I think it is because I am in the midst of Finals. So, I decided to re-post my most popular article, the Road to Emmaus. This one post has gotten over 2,280 hits. I guess it resonates somehow with journey and those seeking.]

Jesus walks with his disciples along the road to Emmaus, and they do not recognize him. I've always loved this story from Luke. Here are two disciples talking about Jesus, and when he comes into their midst, they do not know him. And what does Jesus do? He walks along with them, and joins in their discussion. He is to them what they think he is, a stranger.

I've often wondered if Jesus is to us what we think of him. If we treat him like a stranger, then he remains a stranger to us. And if we treat him as a friend, then he becomes our friend. Think of the gospel story of the Emmaus disciples. Jesus remained hidden to them all day long as they walked along the way. It wasn't until they treated him as a friend, inviting him to "stay with us, for it is nearly evening, and the day is far spent," that they saw him as their friend.

I'm reminded of an old communion hymn that went, "Jesus, Jesus come to me."  He comes. But do we recognize him?

The question of unanswered prayer

Why can't flowers bloom all year round?

I don't know about you, but I have so many unanswered prayers. Not just from today, but from yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that. In fact, I have a life time of many unanswered prayers. From years and years of asking. From years and years of needs. And so, I look at all of these unanswered prayers and wonder, what does it say about me? What does it say about God? I am not sure, but I think it has to do with mystery.

Mystery is such a part of our lives that I doubt we think much about it. And yet, we are confronted with it when we think of faith, of prayer, and of eternity. So much unknowing. So much unanswered prayer.

The right kind of mystery offers us the chance to sit in wonder. And to sit in wonder, I think we must approach mystery with silence. These are not my original thoughts. They are thoughts shared with me yesterday when I met with a friend for spiritual conversation. 

I was asked about my experience of monastic silence. And I had to admit, at first I only practiced the imposed silence of the rule. I thought that kind of silence was good enough, would teach me what I needed to know. But it did not. I had to learn a different kind of silence.

That kind of silence came as a result of unanswered prayer, lots of unanswered prayer. When you are a cloistered nun, and your whole life is given over to prayer, unanswered prayer is not just an annoyance, it hits at the very core of your dedicated life. It brings into question everything you say you believe and the very life you live.

In that time, in a time of accumulated unanswered prayer, I gave up asking. I no longer knew what to say, I became dumb before God. It was not a kind dumb, like a lamb. But a desperate dumb, like a soul who is in despair. A silence imposed by God's silence. A silence that results from darkness. My unanswered prayers became a kind of dumb that knows not what to say.

In that darkness, in that silence, I learned a new kind of prayer. I learned mystery. I learned the prayer that listens.

Sitting before God in a stance of listening taught me a whole new relationship with God. It revealed a God I thought I knew was a God I did not. It lifted me up when I thought I was being cast down. It was the opening of the mystery that shrouded me, only to discover I was in clouds because my spiritual life was on a journey toward a new horizon.

Silence helped me to be open to the mystery, and learn. It was a blessing.

I still ask God for things. At present count, I have at least four huge requests out there waiting on God to give me an answer!

But I am also at peace. Because I know that waiting in mystery is not a bad thing. It is a time to be in wonder. It is a time to prepare.

For as Paul says  in Romans 8:28, For those who love God, all things work together for good. And that goes for unanswered prayer. That goes for silence.

Be the miracle for someone else

Your broken fence may become someone's gate

After writing yesterday's post, someone sent me a video clip of Nick Vujicic, a man born without arms or legs. As I watched the video, saw his "imperfect gift" and heard him speak from his own experience, I knew that there was more to the concept of "imperfect gifts." I could see that "imperfect gift" also carries with it a hidden gift. I knew this as I saw power go out from this young man, the power of conviction and witness that he whose life had been challenged because of his disability had found ways to overcome. And it was the overcoming that moved him to give back, making tours to towns and villages across the whole world, witnessing not to glory, but to overcoming pain and despair. And his story resonated profoundly with his audience.

For me, it was his parting statement that hit home:

"If you pray to God for a miracle, and if God doesn't give you the miracle, God will let you be the miracle for somebody else."

As I watched the video, I realized another part of the "imperfect gift" comes with witness. Nick's speech would not be nearly as powerful if he did not have a personal story of triumph to tell. And it is the overcoming of the difficulties of the imperfect gift that makes the triumph powerful.

Let me remember then, that if in my imperfect gift, God does not hear my prayer for a miracle, that I myself will be the miracle for someone else.

Another reason to thank God for imperfect gifts.
 

The imperfect gift

My imperfect gift from God

When we read theology about God and God-likenss, we read about perfection. In fact, we read terms like all knowing, all goodness, all perfection. So, if this is true, then why are God's gift's so all-flawed?

I come to this question thanks to my cat, Buttons. Again, he woke me up early, despite my attempts to close him out of the bedroom. My cat that came as an answer to prayer. My gift from God. 

Let me tell you about my gift. I had transferred to a new monastery and felt lonely and homesick. I prayed I would "see" a kitty. Instead, I found a little kitten abandoned by its mother, curled up in the leaves. He was maybe 4 weeks old. He was scrawny, tiny, and needed someone to care for him. I was allowed to keep him. My gift from God.

But Buttons is not the sweet, cuddly kitten I could wish for. As a feral cat, he retains his wild streak, which he unleashes when I least suspect or want it. He is fussy, picky about his food, easily upset if he doesn't get his way, and yes, likes to wake me up early, really early.

So I look at this "gift from God" and wonder, why did my gift have to be so imperfect? If God is so perfect, why can't God's gifts be perfect too?

And then I think, perhaps my concept is flawed. Perhaps my flawed thinking comes from the human experience.  Ever ask someone for help and have them take over? Like since you asked, somehow you are deficient, and they must do it themselves. Ask, and you will be controlled.

God is not like that. When you ask God for a gift, God does not take over. God does not treat you or me like we are so deficient that we cannot handle life. Instead, God gives us what is very fallible. Because God knows, we can handle it. We can take those gifts and figure it out. God does not need to take over in our lives and treat us as idiots. God has greater respect for us than that.

So, I look at Buttons and remember, we have been getting along for over 14 years. I love unlocking the apartment door, and finding him right there to greet me. I love it when he settles somewhere near me, just because he likes being there. I love it when he talks to me.

And so, when he wakes me in the early am, I must remember, I can handle it. Because God's gift, though not perfect, is right for me.

Waiting for the door to open

The gospel story goes, The kingdom of heaven is like a treasure hidden in the field (Mt 13:44). I always thought of that treasure as something we find, something we sell all we have to buy that field so that we can keep that treasure. A treasure outside of ourselves.

Recently, while speaking with a good friend, a thought came as to a different meaning for this verse. I realized that actually, I am that treasure, and God is the one who gave up all to have me. I am that treasure because I have hidden inside of me all sorts of gifts and gems. I have goodness that I sometimes hide, and generosity, and kindness and mercy. But it is hidden inside of me. Life tends to make me think I must be hard, must be immoveable. And God saw that I was good; more, that I was a treasure. So God came down in Jesus, and sold his God-hood, and bought me so I could remember my compassion and mercy and goodness.

The thought came because we were speaking of the goodness that we have within, but how often we fail to remember it, especially when God seems deaf to our prayers, especially when we are crying out for guidance and open doors. When we cry for help and hear nothing but silence, it is easy then to blame myself: I am not heard because I am not pure enough. God cannot give me what I ask because I have failed in some way. It is always my fault, my failure, my negligence. That is the temptation.

And yet, we know, we have goodness inside. And no one knows this better than God. And so, when God does not hear our prayers, when doors do not open for us as they have in the past, we should remember that treasure hidden in the field. God has not abandoned us. God knows that hidden treasure.

As to why God makes us wait, that is a another question.

Journeys

It turned out to be both a moving and humbling session. Presentations were on life and one's own journey. And the honesty and trust that came forth could not fail to touch even the most hardened heart.

I suppose that could be the reflection from yesterday's class. Most impressive, beyond the trust and honesty of the presenters, were the journeys themselves. No one had had a "perfect" life. Most had had hard times, times when life was dark and empty, when the road was blurred, when the individual felt lost. Most had stumbled along the way. Most had questioned not only worth, but purpose.

How many of us hold a false impression of life. Few of us follow a straight path. Most of us struggle through, questioning, reflecting, stumbling. Most of us have to overcome certain odds, defeat prejudices, look beyond the hurts of here and now. Most of us have to forgive and to forge ahead.

I found all of this very humbling because for too many years, I saw my past years as a monastic as years of failure. I could not continue what I had begun, what I had promised, what I had chosen. I could not fit in. Not just in the monastery, but even here in life. And now, I see that I am not alone.

We can overcome almost anything if we realize, we are not alone. That one realization has helped countless people step up to the plate of adversity and overcome the odds. Even in the spiritual life, even with a strong faith, I need to know I am not alone. Even though God is all for me, while I travel on this earthly road, while I am in mortal flesh, I need to know and to belong to others.

Perhaps that is why Jesus advocated charity so often and so powerfully. Perhaps that is why Jesus wanted us to reach out to others. Perhaps this is why Jesus told the story of the good Samaritan. No one should ever be alone.

Finding God for myself

I have noticed that those whose spiritual life is guided by others, those who spend hours listening to what we should believe, how we should act, what is right and what is wrong with society; as I said, those who take their faith from another's faith tend to be hard people, judgmental people, shallow people. They tend to think of life in black and white, right and wrong, good and evil.

Perhaps this happens because truth is not truth for me when I simple accept it from another. It is like food that I fail to digest. It stays hard.

To understand, to be a true believer, I need to digest the truth for myself. And I cannot do this without serious reflection and silent time for meditation and Lectio Divina. I must grapple with the words, I must apply them to my heart, I must understand from my own reflection, not from another's.

I suppose there is a fear to do this. I have noticed that silence is a scary thing for many. And I can understand why. Silence leaves me with myself. Yes, that is a scary thing. And yet, this is the door that I must face if I will open it. Facing the truth about myself helps me to be less judgmental, because I am keenly aware of weakness in good will, failure in good intentions, imperfection in even the most beautiful.

I am not saying that we should throw all knowledge and guidance aside. I am advocating that I spend time with scripture and with truth and with God, so that I can learn about these things on a personal level. For if God is not personal for me, then I will be shallow in my faith; it will remain something someone gives to me, not something I have learned about in the depths of my soul.

Waking up the soul

I have to confess, that with the pressure of school work, I have not a thought in my mind these days but stats theories, memorization of diagnosis, and journey. It makes me realize again, how important good friends and good reading are to the soul.

Which makes me wonder how the Desert Abbas and Ammas made it out there all alone. When I read their stories a little closer, I find that though they may have lived in solitude, there was a lot of visiting going on from one cave to another. They were not really "alone".

I think of being "alone" as both a blessing and a curse. Like most individuals who have a passion for writing, I love my solitude. Nothing pleases me more than being alone to sit and reflect and write.

And yet, too much quiet time brings out the demons of loneliness. And I think loneliness can drive one to all sorts of things.

This comes to mind particularly because of the death of the well known artist of Light, Thomas Kinkade. An artist whose paintings contained an inner light, he himself was tormented by all kinds of demons. I have to wonder, did his paintings portray more of what he desired rather than what he actually had? Did his own inner darkness bring forth his desire for light?

Perhaps it is the same for us. Perhaps our creative juices come more from our longing for rather than our actual possession. Perhaps trial and tribulation come not to burden us, but to awaken our soul.

Such are my thoughts this morning.

Going along the path into the mud puddles

Sometimes I feel that walking on a spiritual path is similar to walking through the woods on an earthen trail. If you keep walking, you will at some point get your feet wet and muddy. You will find times when you cannot see the sun. And there will be times when the beauty of nature ceases to amaze you and you find yourself pretty much alone.

I cannot image anyone who hasn't felt these emotions at some point on their spiritual journey. I believe the secret for weathering such times comes from remembering the truths that I  held when things were good. If I believe in something and it is true, going through a "muddy feet" period in my life does not make that truth any less real. It is during these times of less sun and less amazement that I have a chance to examine not just what I believe, but why. And sometimes the why is more revealing than I like to admit.

Do I believe because I love? Or do I believe because I fear hell, or damnation, or whatever happens to bad people? Is my trust in God just hope for security, that nothing bad will happen, or do I trust "even though I should walk in the valley of death"? Do I practice spirituality to feel good? Or do I believe because I have discovered?

All of these questions become clear during times of "muddy feet". Because, if my spirituality is for myself, then I will abandon it in times of stress and doubt and pain. But if I am in it for the Other, namely, for the Divine Being I do not yet know, then I will continue my walk, because I will know this too is part of the journey. All paths have mud puddles in them. And my spiritual walk is no different.

Opening up the door to memory: An Easter Chant

Somehow, different parts of life can hold so much meaning that it is hard to revisit that time. I suppose that is true for everyone. A smell, a song, a photo. That's all it takes to open the door that takes you back in time and place.

Recently, it happened to me, again. Working on a presentation that deals with my past monastic life, I popped in some tape recordings I had made years ago of the various chants we sang in the monastery. I wanted to use some of it for my presentation. As it played in the background, I worked on the script and the pictures. Then, one piece came on, and my world stopped.

It was Christus Resurgens. The epitome of the Easter celebration. The last chant of Easter day, sung after Vespers finishes.

It is impossible to explain why this particular chant means so much to me. Instead, I am providing a rendition of it I found on Youtube.

When you hear it, think of a simple monastery, with a procession of nuns in white making their way around the choir (the monastic "place" where the nuns pray...so called because the prayers are chanted).

Think of those nuns singing this chant with a joy that only comes after you have spent Lent in heavy penances, many restrictions, and constant fasts.

Think of the atmosphere of the monastery chapel, full of the glory of Easter, brilliance of flowers, candles, and light.

Think of Alleluia, and all it encompasses.

I will give you renown and praise

There's nothing like beginning your morning with a reading such as Zephaniah 3:19-20:

       Yes, at that time I will deal with all who oppress you; I will save the lame, and assemble the outcasts; I will give them praise and renown in all the earth, when I bring about their restoration. At that time I will bring you home, and at that time I will gather you; For I will give you renown and praise among all the peoples of the earth, When I bring about your restoration before your very eyes, says the Lord.

I do not know about you, but I tend to forget this passage. I tend to forget to ask God to restore me, to give me renown and praise. In other words, I tend to keep my request to God on the spiritual plane, and forget that God is interested in my temporal, physical, and very earthy life. In dealing with grace and virtue and spiritual mindedness, in trying to see God, I sometimes forget how God sees me. God knows that I am "fearfully, wonderfully made" and that success is not beyond a prayer.

In truth, I forget to ask God for BIG things. I content myself with little scraps of grace, of good fortune (which I see as blessings from God). I have been trained for so long on the "I don't deserve better" concept that it is still hard to believe that, no, God has made me "wonderfully" and that Jesus himself teaches us to ask.

Is this not one of the messages of the resurrection? Jesus did not just say we would live forever. Jesus came back after his death. He made the disciples breakfast. He sat with them and talked to them. He showed that all these things do not escape his attention.

I tend to think too small. I think I tend to stay with the small so I won't be disappointed. I forget, God is big, and can do great things. I need to ask. I need to remember Zephaniah.

The greatest change

I saw this on a website.

"Yesterday I was clever, so I wanted to change the world.

Today I am wise, so I am changing myself.

                       - Rumi

It reminds me of a monastic training that taught me, the only person I can change is myself. And the greatest change I can bring to the world is my own change.

So why do I hope to change others?

I think it comes back to control.  And control usually comes when I do not have trust.

For trust can fly free, not without stress, but with less stress.

Trust lets me focus on the mystery. Control makes me think I can change it.

That's my thoughts for today. What are your thoughts?

The disciples on the road to Emmaus

The disciples on the road to Emmaus. It is one of my favorite stories of the resurrection. It depicts not just disciples who had believed and been disappointed, but it depicts each one of us as well. What happens on this journey happens to me. I believe. I hope. And at times, I am disappointed, by God.

When I give my life over to God, when I live in a conscious attitude of Presence, I expect God to reciprocate. I expect God to watch over me. When I suffer darkness and confusion, when bad things happen and I am not spared, when life hurts, my first instinct is to turn to God and ask, "Why?"

The disciples on the road to Emmaus were asking the same question. And I think the message of this story is, be careful of your sadness, for it will keep you from having vision. Jesus walks right up to the disciples, who were at that very moment speaking of him. And yet, they do not recognize. He walks with them, yet they do not recognize. He opens the scripture to them; he makes their hearts burn, and still, they do not recognize. They are looking in with sadness, they are concentrating on their disappointment, they have lost vision.

When I am disappointed, I should remember that sadness steals my vision. It makes life dark, and prospects dim. It keeps me involved with my pain, and not with gift. It makes me forget that sadness too needs resurrection.

Sadness made the disciples forget what Jesus looked like. If I succumb to sadness, I too will forget. I too will become weary with the journey, and not recognize Presence and gift when it comes.

Easter is about Sacred words

Easter is about Amazement. Every time Jesus appears to someone, they are amazed. Often, they are in disbelief. And some do not even recognize him.

Part of the amazement comes because, even though Jesus had foretold his resurrection, his disciples did not believe him. In their minds, the Savior was suppose to bring back the glory of Israel.  When Jesus dies, it is over. And all the words about rising from the dead literally fell on deaf ears.

Perhaps we are not far from the disciples. How often we have heard words and not believed. How often have we clung to an image and refused to accept anything else. Part of it comes from the fact that in life, comments are made flippantly, with no real substance to them. We get used to hearing promises that are never kept, invitations that are never fulfilled, and offers that fall flat.

When we enter into a relationship with Jesus, when we begin to learn what it means to believe, we realize that when Jesus speaks, he means what he says. He does not speak lightly. He fulfills his promises.

So, if we are believers, should we not fulfill our promises? Should we not be true to the words we utter?

No one speaks of this kind of witness. And yet, what better example could I give to my faith than to treat my words as sacred?

Easter is about accepting this truth.

Who do I see?

The Easter story is not just about resurrection. It is also a story about seeing and unseeing, about understanding and misunderstanding. It is a story about the ability to grow and change.

I love to think of Mary Magdalen going to the tomb, intent on anointing the body of Jesus. She does not stop to consider whether she can roll the huge stone away, or how she will get past the soldiers who are guarding the place. She goes thinking only of honoring the body of Jesus. When she finds the tomb empty, she runs to tell the disciples, who come, look and then leave.

Mary Magdalen does not leave. She stays in the garden and weeps. She does not know where Jesus is, so she stays at the place she last saw him. He was dead, but he was there. And when Jesus reveals himself to her, she does not recognize him.

There are many theories as to why Mary Magdalen does not recognize Jesus. Some say she was weeping and so tears blurred her vision. Some say she expected him dead, so did not recognize him alive. But regardless of the reason, the truth is, Mary looked straight at Jesus and called him the gardener (Jn 20:15).

I do the same thing. I look at people, situations, even my faith, and have a tendency to call it by another name. My judgements are not always true. I see, but not always what is there.

I believe this is Jesus main issue with the scribes and pharisees. They felt they could not make a mistake. They believed they knew. They said, "We see" when in fact, they were blind (Jn 9:41).

I must have a faith like Mary Magdalen, one that is attentive to my name being called, and my eyes being opened. To be aware I may make mistakes in judgments, or in perceptions.

Mary Magdalen accepted that she mistakenly called Jesus the gardener. She did not hesitate for one moment to accept that fact, and ran to embrace Jesus (Jn 20:16).

It is an example for me. For to see Jesus, I must sometimes admit, I have it wrong, I have judged falsely, I have failed to see.

Easter: a time of resurection

I have noticed that spiritual people can have a tendency to over spiritualize everything in life, as though somehow every act came straight from the hand of God. I am not speaking of those who see the hand of God in events, but rather to those who exclude the human element of life, the human struggle, the human dimension. And when we do that, we forget the human effort needed to rise above human tendency.

Easter is just one sort of event. Christians all believe that Jesus rose from the dead, a day glorious and offering profound hope of immortality. What we often forget is, Jesus too, as a human being, had a choice. Jesus rose because he could follow through with his calling, he could let go of the past and move forward to his destiny, he could unwrap the bindings that held him and step forth into the light.

Think for a moment of what might have happened had Jesus held on to the pain and suffering he endured. What if Jesus could not let go of his suffering and humiliation? What if he had gotten "stuck" in the memory of what had happened and could not move past that?

It is unimaginable to think of Jesus stuck in death. And yet, that is how I sometimes live; stuck in a bad memory, in anger and resentment. Stuck in my bad luck, bad choices, unfortunate incidents.

What good is it to believe in resurrection, in eternal life, if I cannot rise above events here on earth? What good is it to hope for heaven when I live life as though in a tomb? For when I am stuck, I cannot hear the call to come forth. I am, spiritually, stuck in death.

Jesus showed us the power of letting go when he stepped out of the tomb and into the light. He showed us the power of dropping our bindings and moving our sealed stone that keeps us imprisoned. He opened the sealed compartment of his tomb not by force, but by grace. Such is the power of letting go.

Jesus invites me to do the same. Easter is a reminder that eternal life starts here on earth, that rising begins with daily events, that each of us has a tomb requiring resurrection. Easter is a symbol for each one of us to come forth from the tomb of disappointments, disillusionment, judgements and resentments.I am called to live a resurrected life, to unwrap whatever binds me and holds me prisoner. I am called to grace, a grace that can perform powerful acts of God within my life, if I let go.

Let us each live resurrected, here and now, so that we witness to the power of believing.

Good Friday: a day of profound silence

No time of year makes me homesick for the monastery more than Holy Week. Whatever sacrifices we made, whatever penances we practices, whatever prayers we said, they all culminated in the beauty found in Holy Week.

Of all those practices, prayers and penances, the one I miss most is the atmosphere of silence. Perhaps that is why I have never found Holy Week to be anything like the monastic practice. Maybe it was the silence that gave such a profound meaning to all we did on Holy Thursday, Good Friday and Holy Saturday.

Monastic silence was not the absence of words. It was not the refusal to speak or a hard distant quiet. Monastic silence was full of Presence, because it was borne of contemplation. It was not an absence of words, because the soul was in a conversation with God. Monastic silence was not void, not empty, not stark. That kind of silence has no fruit to give. Monastic silence was pregnant with inspirations and revelations.

In the monastery, these Holy Days were marked because they were days of profound silence, when no words were spoken. In such silence, the world of the spirit comes alive. Practicing this kind of silence teaches the soul how to commune with God. It teaches the senses to leap beyond the natural and into the spirit world.

Perhaps that is why the Gospel stories of the Passion depict Jesus and his disciples, and even his mother, all in silence. The only persons speaking are those determined to put Jesus to death. All the rest are silent. All the rest are watching.

Perhaps this silence was the disciples entry into a deeper spiritual commune with the God they thought they knew as Jesus. Perhaps this was Jesus way of helping them shed the concept they had of him as the Messiah ready to bring back the glory of the kingdom, and realize that the kingdom referred to their souls, not to their possessions.

Good Friday. Let us observe a period of silence. Let us let our souls speak in place of our tongues. Let us try to capture the wondrous atmosphere that teaches us spiritual truths.

Breaking the alabaster jar...

Holy Thursday, a day of remembering. A day of preparation. A day when the symbol broke, and reality flowed.

The week begins with the story of how Mary anoints Jesus with a liter of costly perfumed oil. Mark 14:3-5 gives us a graphic account: When he was in Bethany reclining at table in the house of Simon the leper, a woman came with an alabaster jar of perfumed oil, costly genuine spikenard. She broke the alabaster jar and poured it on his head.

Is not this a mirror of life? I have within myself the very goodness God planted there. But somehow, it stays hidden, even from me. And I live out my life as though I were an alabaster jar, trying not to get hurt, not to be chipped, not to be broken. I think it is good to be hard, to be able to carry life within, and do not realize, sometimes life needs to break out.

Even more, sometimes I cherish the alabaster jar more than the precious ointment within. I want to keep the jar intact, even if it means I lost the treasure. Through this gospel I am invited to break that concept, to reject what I cherish, and let what is truly precious flow out.

For when I do this, I am acting like Mary, I am being bold with my love, my devotion, and my faith. I am taking it out of the alabaster jar and pouring it out, not caring what others might say.

Holy Thursday is a good day to think on these things.

Message of Holy Week

Holy Week. It is upon us. It offers each one of us a gift, the gift of remembering that just because things don't turn out right, just because our lives do not follow a straight path, doesn't mean we have lost. In fact, if Holy Week is anything, it is a vivid example of bad being turned to good, of suffering being made fruitful and redemptive, and love being powerful enough to overcome evil.

More and more I see life as "passing through the veil." It seems that before we can step into a deeper understanding of life, especially of the spiritual aspect of life, we must walk through some valley of mist, some shrouded event when we cannot see clearly or experience the present of God. Many times, these are times when we are crying out to God for assistance, and God seems silent. Our own agony in the Garden, our own abandonment by God.

I like to think that during such times of darkness and abandonment, we are walking through a veil. Because, if we hold fast, if we continue to believe without seeing or experiencing God, we do step beyond, we do reach a different level of understanding.

As we walk together this Holy Week, let us each remember those times in our own lives when we were alone, when God seemed far off, and help did not assist. Let us remember, so that when it happens again, we may be encouraged, and know that Holy Week is an event, not a destiny.

Accepting the role of failure

As we begin Holy Week, I cannot help but think of one topic we all avoid: failure. We dread this word almost as much as we dread the word death.

I am thinking of this as I watch an individual try to navigate life without admitting to weakness. And it brings to mind that Holy Week is not just about events, about celebrations, about passion, but also about failure and weakness, about human suffering and defeat. And how hard it is for us, for me, to admit or accept either.

Perhaps I think of failure as an end result. If I am a failure, then life is over. If I am weak, then I have nothing to brag about, and I am not worth anyone's attention.

Jesus took on both labels. He let himself feel the despair of suffering, failure, weakness. Why? I wonder if perhaps Jesus wanted us to remember, failure and weakness are not the end. I have the ability to rise again, beyond those events.

I am not defined by one action. I am effort, determination, and faith. I am a mixture of failure and success, strength and weakness. I am a composite, complicated, and amazingly resilient person.

Those are my thoughts as I begin this Holy Week. What are yours?