Remembering with tears....

The altar of the monastery where I once lived

I knelt down on the cold hard floor, leaning up against the back of the pew. Just the act of kneeling brought back memories, memories of the many holy weeks I spent in the monastery. In the silence that filled the church, with the organ quietly playing the meditation hymn, the past seemed very present. I thought about that past. I remembered what it felt like. And the tears came. I did nothing to stop them.

It was how I remembered.

You would have to know how Holy Week is kept in a monastery, and the impact it has upon the heart and soul to understand my emotion. Monastic custom required more silence than usual, a stricter fast, and many more prayers. These were not just acts....they were very consciously tied in with the passion account, the acts of remembering the story of Jesus and his suffering and death.

What I remember most was the silence. We did not speak at all those last days of Holy Week. The bells, too, were silenced, as was the organ. Only the bare chant remained, one of minor cords and sorrowful tones. All was simple. All was very plain.  It made the gospel come alive to the heart and soul.

I once thought I could never leave the monastery because, whatever else that happened, Holy Week ceremonies and customs were too precious to ever give up.

But I did give them up.

And so I wept on Sunday. I did not weep because I was sad. I wept because of the beauty of what I remembered.

A walk with the moon

Walking early this morning, the sight of the moon partially hidden by clouds caught my fancy. I was thinking about monasteries, and how when the boom of applicants in the 50s was replaced by scarcity of applicants in the 60s through to today, life changed inside the monastery. Thinking of the influx of the 50s, I realized that it was sparked by the recent war, with death and suffering very present to the minds of the young. In the face of such thoughts, many looked for something deeper, more lasting, more eternal.

Why do we have to face death and suffering before we make God a serious part of our daily lives? For a death sentence strikes fear to those of us who think little of the Divine Being. And learning about God now brings peace and joy.

My thoughts go to a deathbed I witnessed in the monastery, where the rather young sister was dying of cancer. Death was not fearful for her. She greeted it with a joy so profound and a peace so deep it is hard to describe. This attitude affected me very much, as I was one of her caregivers, and saw her suffering, her quick decline, and her willingness to accept it all. She had made God her friend, and so she could welcome death because she believed she was going to someone she knew, someone she had thought about often.

We too should develop a friendship with the Divine, and not wait for suffering or death to force the issue.

Which brings me back to my walk this morning. Seeing the moon shining through the clouds, it occurred to me that living without an awareness of spiritual things is like walking in the moonlight. We can see, but in a dim way. Faith has always been called a light, a light so steady that no suffering or death can dim it. More importantly, there is so much joy to be had in building a spiritual relationship with the Divine it is a pity we fail to seek it while life is going well.

Let's not wait for death to force spirituality upon us. Let us develop a relationship now, in the fullness of health. Divinity is waiting for us.

Living in Fog

Photo by Jerry Gracey, Jr.

Security. It is something we all seek. Yet, at the same time, it can be a trap. Security can deceive us into staying when we should leave, and accepting when we should question. Security can tell us to put down roots when we should be backpacking. Security can keep us banging our heads against a closed door when there is an open door behind us, if we would just turn around.

I know. Because I let security keep me in my place, banging my head against the door that was obviously closed to me, willing it to open. I lacked the courage to turn around and step out. I lacked because I had been trained to believe faithfulness required me to continue banging my head. It took time before I learned to risk all by turning around and stepping out into the unknown.

And yet, it was only when I risked all, when I stepped out into the unknown, that I began to live. In that risky and unknown place, I found door after door, which opened and opened and opened. And when a door remained closed, I learned to turn around again, and seek elsewhere. I learned truth can stand the test of questioning; that some sayings are mere platitudes and need to be discarded; that what I was taught to believe is different from what I learn to believe. I came to realize that God is big, big enough to let me make my own mistakes. That God is not hard on me….I am the one who is hard on myself. God invites me to question, to turn around, to seek and seek and seek until I find.

Somewhere I read that when we forget we are a pilgrim, we forget what faith is all about. I believe that now. I believe that because I have learned the gift that comes with living in the fog, with questioning, with taking risks. Sometimes we need that fog. We need it in order to grow and move forward.

Not set in stone

As beautiful as this is, it will not grow.

Deuteronomy 5:8 instructs You shall not make for yourself any graven image. We are prone to interpret that as false gods, the kind the early Israelites made and set up before themselves and worshiped. 

But is that the true meaning of Deuteronomy 5:8?

I think not. I think it is telling us, don't take an incident, an action, a thought or a value and hold on to it as though it alone is true. Because that is carving it in stone. And life is not like that.

That is death.

Life is change. Life is learning. Life is journey.

I think that is one of the many reasons why we are urged to forgive. Because to refuse to forgive is in effect saying that that one action, that one incident, is carved into my memory. I will never let that memory go. I will always look at that person in light of that one action. And that too is death.

We do the same with opinions. We get an opinion, and then we hold on to it, and refuse to see some other value or way of looking at it. In effect, we have carved that opinion into stone and then worshiped our ideal as the only one true.

And any graven image is a dead image.

To refuse to carve an image in stone is to honor life.

I have heard it said that if we say we know someone like a book, then we really don't know that person at all. Because we are not books. We are human beings. 

And so, the same can be said of setting ideas, memories, or events in stone. It is the opposite of growth, enlightenment, and transformation.

And scripture says, Jesus came that we might have life, a life that grows, matures, and changes.

The question of evil

The question is as old as the ages, and has been asked in every language and in every religion. If God is loving and kind, then why do we have suffering in this world?

Many have tried to answer this question. Theologians will speak about free will and original sin. Others will blame the power of evil and darkness. And some maintain it is all an illusion. But when you are the one struggling, these answers do not speak to the heart and soul.

Elizabeth Kubler Ross is quoted as saying The most beautiful people we have known are those who have known defeat, known suffering, known struggle, known loss, and have found their way out of the depths. These persons have an appreciation, a sensitivity, and an understanding of life that fills them with compassion, gentleness, and a deep loving concern. Beautiful people do not just happen.

To explain pain away or make it good is to cheapen human suffering. To acknowledge it, to struggle and rise from the depths, that takes a strong and resolute soul. We have seen individuals who have endured much, even to the depths of despair, but have come out radiant and enlightened. They are powerful souls because they have faced suffering and overcome it. Their experience has taught them the power of compassion and encouragement.

Beautiful people do not just happen.  

They have let pain become vehicles of transformation.

Beautiful people do not just happen.

I need to remember this.

Thirsting for More

I often say, I think we’ve got it all wrong. For example, take the words of Sirach 24:18-21: Come to me, all you that yearn for me, and be filled with my fruits; you will remember me as sweeter than honey, better to have than the honeycomb. She who eats of me will hunger still, she who drinks of me will thirst for more; She who obeys me will not be put to shame, she who serves me will never fail.

In a sense, this quote is telling us, the journey does not stop. It is saying that desire should never find fulfillment, and that as long as we desire, we shall want more. The words bring to mind that neediness is not shameful, but useful. The concept is counter to what most of us want. I want my desire to find fulfillment. I want to stop the wandering, the searching, the inquire for answers. And yet, Sirach says, we should hope never to be satisfied. We should hope to always thirst for more. 

I think Sirach is telling me that loving God cannot be a plateau. I can never arrive and stand content. It is telling me, or even warning me, that the God thing is a tangible and satisfying affair, one that makes my heart beg for more.

I think the last line in this quote tells me the most. It doesn't say, she who serves me will succeed, but she who serves me will never fail. There is a huge difference. Success can be a personally satisfying, self-fulfilling achievement. It can also be, in a sense, the end of my journey. And while a sojourner on this earth, my journey continues. By saying I shall never fail, the writer is in effect acknowledging my need to continue on. In a way, the writer is addressing the realism of life, my ups and downs, my doubts as well as my faith. 

And so, I understand that, in all that happens, nothing need spell failure for me because I do not ever stop. As long as I continue on, and thirst for more, there will always be hope.