Holy Daring!

Make every place the "house of the Lord"

There is one thing I ask of the Lord, this I seek; to dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life (Ps 27).

This psalm reminds me of a great woman mystic, St Teresa of Avila. In her writings she invites us to be familiar with God, to believe in God, and to count on God. She called it "holy daring." I would believing that I can be in the presence of God always as part of that daring faith.

If you have ever read any of the writings of Teresa of Avila, you will be familiar with her type of conversation with God. She writes that she tripped one day when about to get into a carriage, and fell into a mud puddle. She heard Jesus say, "This is how I treat my friends."  "Well, then, it's no wonder you have so few," she replied.

I love such dialogue. I want that familiar relationship with Jesus. I want to be so close to God that no matter where I go, or no matter what life brings, I am dwelling in "the hose of the Lord" by being wrapped in God's presence. In a sunset; in a mud puddle.

This is my prayer today. I pray the same for you.

Life is not fair.

Photo by Kathleen J. Young

Attitudes Toward Your Life

“Life is not fair,” the sinner said,

And he sinned all he could, regardless.

“Life is not fair,” the agnostic said,

And he killed himself to prove it.

“Life is not fair,” the advocate said,

And he thought up new laws to amend it.

“Life is not fair,” the zealot said,

And he started a war to protest it.

“Life is not fair,” the thief said,

And he stole what he could to possess it.

“Life is not fair,” the Savior said,

And he shed all his blood to redeem it.

God does not prevent, God heals.

I love psalm 34.  It reads

The Lord confronts the evildoers, 
to destroy remembrance of them from the earth.
When the just cry out, the Lord hears them,
and from all their distress he rescues them.

I think that is the kind of Lord most of us want, someone to confront those who do evil, and destroys their memory.

But in my experience, the Lord does not do that. At least, not that often. Not as often as I would like.

And so, the other part of psalm 34 comforts me:

The Lord is close to the brokenhearted;
and those who are crushed in spirit he saves.
Many are the troubles of the just person,
but out of them all the Lord delivers.

It seems even the psalmists, who desires that the Lord would confront all those who would do us evil, realizes that it does not always happen. That we become broken, crushed, and troubled.

I love this psalm precisely because it gives us what we would like, and the reality of life. We would like a  God who delivers us here and now.

But the reality is, God delivers us gradually. God does not save us from brokenness. God does not keep us from getting crushed.

And yet, God is there for us, to raise us up, to heal and renew.

And in time, we realize that God is far more powerful to heal than to prevent.

Knowing God in mercy, not sacrifice

I like to look at the life of one of the Gospel writers, Matthew. As I read the Gospel according to Matthew, I can see a mirror of how Jesus thinks and how Jesus acts.

According to the gospel account, Matthew was a tax collector, a profession considered traitorous by his own country men. Strict Jews of Jesus time would have banned any contact or communication with such a person. Jesus, always one to break away from customs steeped in human origin, walks over to Matthew and says not "Hi. Howya doin?" but, "Follow me" (Mt 9:9). And Matthew rises up and leaves everything to follow.

I've often wondered at certain passages of the gospels, those that deal with the righteous being cast out and those considered "sinners" or "least worthy" being made friends of God. Matthew certainly fits in this category, but so does Mary Magdalen (Lk 7:36-50), the Centurion (Mt 8:5-13), and most especially, the story of the pharisee and the publican (Lk 18:9-14).

Jesus chose these people because he saw something humble, something honest, something authentic in these cast-outs of regular religious society.  According Matthew (9:9-13) Jesus response to those who questioned his association with Matthew and his friends were simple, Go and learn the meaning of the words, I desire mercy, not sacrifice.

Swiss mystic Maurice Zundel writes As long as we have not met God...God is like a false god. Maybe this is the answer to the puzzle. All of the good works or piety or just deeds we do have no real meaning if they do not bring us to the true God. We meet that God not in the religious customs and ceremonies that we create, but, as Jesus said, when we have learned the truth of the words I desire mercy, not sacrifice.

A loss that remains

Loss. I have had as many losses as others. Lost dreams, lost goals, lost hope. Most losses I have experienced meant opening another door and moving forward in a different direction.

But there is one loss that is different. It is just a loss...with no door to open or new place to move. That loss came when my mother died.

When a parent dies, specifically, when you lose your mother, a door closes. You find that you become the older adult. You become the next in line to die. And death becomes more real, in a very different way. It is as though the line towards death has taken a major step forward. And you are next.

I have used this very real and deep lose to ponder. I have asked myself if I am ready, when it comes. I have looked over my priorities to see if they are in line with what I say is important in my life. And I have sought to appreciate my family more.

As I move forward, the loss remains. No matter what happens in life, my mother is gone and will not be able to appreciate or encourage me in that tangible way that meant so much to me. That is just a fact. That is life.

Some losses are permanent.

Be an instrument of peace

We read it, we sing it, and we say it. Make me an instrument of your peace. If the popularity of these words proves anything, it is that our desire for peace is strong.

But how do we become that instrument? As amazing as it may sound, we do so when we are living our spiritual beliefs as authentically as we can.

It is like the sail on a boat. It can't move the boat until a wind comes along. The sail cannot produce the wind. It can only hang in readiness for it, catching it when it finally blows.

So too is God's grace. Sometimes the more I try to bring peace, the more I alienate others. But when I let God reign in my heart, when my concern is not how others are living, but how I am, then the spirit of God leads me, and the hand of God guides me. And God makes me the instrument.

The mouth of the just person utters wisdom, and her tongue speaks what is right says psalm 36:30. You will see God using you as an instrument when you let go of trying to be one. It is the strangest phenomenon. When my eyes are fixed on spiritual things, when I have stopped trying to manage life, God steps in and uses me. I don't have to plot and plan my words. They will flow out from me, through the spirit living within. I will be as surprised as any other when I hear some of the words that come out of my mouth. And I will be in awe at how God’s works.

So when you pray, Lord, make me an instrument of your peace, know you will be one, in Divine grace, in a life lived wholly for higher things, and in simplicity of heart. Just let the sails of your faith be unfurled, and the spirit of God will catch it and send you forth.

It is good for you that I go away

It seems a contradiction, that in order to gain, we must first lose. That is the message Jesus gave his disciples when he ascended away from them. "If I do not go, the spirit will not come" (Jn 16: 6).  It is as if Jesus is saying, yes, there will be losses. But there will also be gains. That indeed is good news.

All of us have had our losses. We each handle it differently. Jesus' words about going away, about loss, is heartening to me, because it is a reminder to hope. Perhaps this is Jesus way of telling us that when we experience loss, as we inevitably will, we need remember there will be a gain as well. And Jesus is saying, not the same gain, but something greater, something more wonderful, something more consoling.

This is how Jesus contradicts the world and its concepts. Jesus offers us a different way of thinking and of responding. He turns evil upside down, brings blessings out of pain, and gives us more than we lose. This is what it means to walk in his shadow and understand his message. It means never settling for less, the less the world would have us believe.

The disciples responded to Jesus going away by gathering together in prayer and waiting. It can't be a bad example to follow. For sometimes, my loss is overwhelming, and all I can do is wait and pray. Jesus would have me wait with hope.

The treasure in the field

We read in Matthew 13:44 that The kingdom of heaven is like a treasure hidden in the field. 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.

But another thought occurred to me when I was talking to a friend about the goodness that we have within, but often fail to remember. This happens especially when God seems deaf to our prayers, 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 for because I have failed in some way. It is always my fault, my failure, my negligence. That is the temptation.

That is when I realized, gosh, I am not the one who gives all for the treasure hidden in the field so much as God. Because In Jesus, God came down and gave up his God-hood. And for what? For nothing less than myself. Oh how easy it is to forget that I have hidden inside of me all sorts of gifts from God. I have goodness that I sometimes hide, and generosity, and kindness and mercy. But I forget. I get caught up in appearing strong and hard and immoveable. Because that is what my culture or my self tells me I should be. I forget that inside of me is a treasure chest of goodness, compassion and mercy.

And so, when God does not hear my prayers, when doors do not open for me as they have in the past, let me not dishonor myself. God gave all for a treasure hidden in the field. It's for me to remember. And that will help me in my wait.

As to why God makes me wait, well thought that would require a whole new post.

God's imperfect gifts

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 as I remember my cat, Buttons, the cat that came as an answer to prayer. My gift from God.  It happened like this: 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 about 4 weeks old, scrawny, flea ridden, tiny, and needed someone to care for him. I was allowed to keep him. It was a true gift from God.

But this gift was not perfect. He was not the sweet, cuddly kitten I wanted. As a feral kitty, he retained his wild streak as he grew up, which he unleashed on me when I least wanted it. He was fussy about his food and easily upset if he didn’t get his way. And he used to wake me up early, really early.

One time I looked at this "gift from God" and wondered, 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 thought, perhaps it is my concept that 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, when I remember Buttons, I remember the good as well as the difficult. I remember how I had him for 14 years. I remember how I would find him waiting for me at the door every single time I came home. I remember how he loved to sleep on my feet, nap in whatever room I settled in, and would talk to me. I remember him with fondness, because despite his flaws, he was truly my gift from God.

And so, when I receive an imperfect gift from God, I want to remember, I can handle it. Because even though God's gift is not perfect, it is right for me.

Looking in all the wrong places

Ever notice how we tend to seek our security outside of ourselves instead of within, where the real strength lies? Perhaps if we re-read psalm 23, the psalm of the Good Shepherd, we would challenge our search. It reads: "Even though I walk in the valley of darkness, I fear no evil, for you are with me.”

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 me for a long time. I did want, and I did fear the darkness. But maybe they are not meant to be oppositional. Maybe such lines are complimentary. Maybe it is the darkness that teaches me not to want, because it teaches me that what I most 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.

What to do with unanswered prayer

Unanswered prayer. I don't know about you, but I have many. Not just from today, but from yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that. In fact, I have a life time of 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 my God?

I am not sure, but I suspect 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.

The right kind of mystery offers us the chance to sit in wonder. And we can only sit in wonder when we learn silence.

Silence is more than lack of noise. The kind of silence we need to be still before mystery seems to come only after we have been disappointed, when life has not turned out as we thought it should, when answers no longer satisfy. Then, we seem to come to a silence that waits.

I learned that kind of silence as a nun living in a monastery. I learned it through 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 in 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 that of 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 or even what to think.

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

Sitting before God in a stance of listening brought me into a whole new relationship with God. Sitting in silence, I discovered that the God I thought I knew was a God I did not know. I came to realize that I was being lifted up precisely when I thought I was being cast down. I found that the fog that seemed to shroud me was really passing clouds along my journey as my spiritual life came to a new horizon.

It was silence that helped me to be open to mystery. And I learned that silence, the right kind of silence, because of unanswered prayer.

And so today, when my prayer goes unanswered, I try to remember the words of psalm 46:10: Be still and know that I am God.  I try to remember, having my prayer answered is not the most important thing in life. Entering deeper into mystery is.