Thirsting for more...

Artwork by Mary Grace Thul, OP

For any sojourner on the way, The words of Sirach 24:18-21 can bring much hope: 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.

The words bring to mind that neediness is not something to be disposed of, but accepted. The concepts are counter to what most of us wish--that our desires never find fulfillment, but instead, are increased: she who drinks of me will thirst for more. 

The words bring to mind our usual reaction: when we enjoy things in life, we do not hang it up. We want more. (I think of popcorn, and how I can never have enough of it!)

I think Sirach is telling us in not so subtle ways that loving God should be a tangible and satisfying affair. That it should not make the heart satisfied, but begging for more.

I think the last line in this quote tells us something unique. It doesn't say, she who serves me will succeed, but she who serves me will never fail. I think there is a huge difference. Success can be personally satisfying, self-fulfilling achievement. It is also, in a sense, the end of the journey. And while a sojourner on this earth, our journey will not end. And so, by saying we shall never fail, the writer is in effect acknowledging the need to continue moving forward. In a way, the writer is addressing the realism of life, our ups and downs, our doubts as well as our faith. In all that happens, nothing need spell failure unless we let it.

It is good to remember these things as we travel forward. It is good to remember that thirst, desire, yearning works toward our favor, if we live in the spirit.

Standing in the fog...

You are standing in the thick of it, like a lost soul standing on a foot bridge with neither end visible. The fog does not lift, nor does it give a hint as to a possible destination. And you stand there, wondering if you should proceed forward, stay where you are, or return from whence you came. It is a moment of suspension, a moment of questioning.

I think we all have gone through such moments in life, when life does not proceed as we think it should, and we are left wondering, should we go forward or wait, act or surrender, trust in providence or proceed with hope? And the fog continues to hang around us, misty and wet, hiding our vision, dampening not just our hair but our spirit.

Perhaps Isaiah experienced this when he wrote Look down from heaven and regard us from your holy and glorious place! Where is your zealous care and your might, your surge of pity and your mercy? O Lord, hold not back, for you are father and mother, lord our redeemer.

No matter how deep your spiritual life, fog always brings some sense of confusion. It isn't that we do not trust. It is more that in our desire to serve, we find our role unclear. In our willingness to take the blame, we sometimes imagine the fog is our fault.

But psalm 40:8 tells us to know that in our waiting, we are heard. The psalmist prayers: I have waited, waited for the Lord, and he stooped toward me and heard my cry.

Surrounded by fog, we must not forget the gift of God. I recently experienced this gift, a moment when the Lord very much stooped toward me and heard my cry. It came in the form of a friend, whose conversation very much lifted my mind, soul and spirit. And though the fog did not lift, my spirit did.

Perhaps that is the lesson I am meant to learn. To appreciate the gift I might otherwise forget while I'm surging forward. Perhaps the fog is so I will take a moment to wait for the Lord. Or perhaps, I just need a friend to remind me of all of these things, so that despite the fog, I will not lose heart.

Going forward on the journey

Sometimes when I look back over my life, I wonder why I could not have taken the more "traditional" path: know what I want, pursue it, and then find contentment with what I get. This has hardly been my journey.

Instead, my pursuit has often left me wanting. I would stare at my achievement, and wonder why I did not find the satisfaction I expected. Reflection and time set me again on another pursuit, with much the same result. As I set out yet again, I cannot help but wonder, am I unique? Or are there others who also find that the first pursuit did not reveal the true desire of the heart?

Catherine of Siena tells us that, when we look back and see that life has been less than straightforward, there is a tendency to become discouraged. She writes we become frustrated with ourselves and abandon our spiritual practices, thinking God must not be pleased or satisfied with what we have been doing. That is the temptation, to yield to discouragement and stay with what one has.

But I believe that life is not meant to be straightforward, that we learn lessons only with reflection on the past. Then we decide how to make today's journey just a little bit better. Llewellyn Vaughan-Lee believes it is a matter of surrendering. He writes Love's union is stamped within the heart, and our own self is the only veil that separates us from this mystical secret. Once love has brought us Home, we realize the illusory nature of our ego; we come to know how we have always belonged to love--the ego, battered into surrender, melted down by longing, steps aside and allows us to glimpse this truth (p. 123).


Vision comes slowly.  I must continue my search, knowing that each surrender helps me tear away a little of the veil that separates me from the mystical secret in my heart. I must never give in to discouragement, but accept this for what it is, a life-long endeavor.

To stay true to my journey, I find it helpful to remember the words of psalm 18:1: I love you Lord, my strength.

Stay the pursuit. Only then will you come to the mystical secret of the heart.

 

Keeping the vision

A wonderful sermon yesterday challenged me to check my vision. The topic was the Magi and the star, Herold and the Infant. The message reminded me that the Magi and the King, according to the story in scripture, had the same knowledge. But each party responded in a very different way. The Magi wanted to find the Infant in order to give him gifts. The King wanted to find the Infant in order to take away his life.

The sermon got me thinking that we, too, look at life in a similar way: either with an attitude to give, or an attitude to take.

I think a lot has to do with the amount of fear we carry within ourselves. If we live with inner uncertainty, we live with fear of exposure, and will fight anything we think will cause us loss. All shadows will threaten. If we accept our broken condition and live with faith and trust, we will look through the shadows seeking to find the star of hope.

It is possible. Think of Viktor Frankl. Who could have endured the losses he endured? And yet he found meaning in his terrible ordeal. He writes, often it is just such an exceptionally difficult external situation which gives us the opportunity to grow spiritually beyond ourselves (p. 72). It is a matter of vision, looking beyond the situation at our feet.

There is a saying that life is what we make of it. I confess, I find that saying a little trite, dismissive of the pain of real human suffering. I would rather say, despite the sufferings we endure in life, we can look beyond and find the star of hope.

It depends on our vision.

Epiphany

The term has come to mean the dawning of a new light...when we see in a way that changes our lives.

Heather King writes that Christianity has at its center joy, but joy is born of brokenness, limitation, tension, paradox. The shepherds, who have never left their pasture; the wise men, who have traveled from afar.

To behold light means to see that paradox and not be scandalized. It means to know we are both seekers and the one found. It means being both afraid and unafraid.

The Lord is my light and my salvation, whom should I fear? we sing in psalm 27:1. We realize our courage only after we have tasted brokenness and bitterness. Light means more when we have known darkness. It is all part of our journey.

Accept the paradox called life. Then you may truly have a Happy Epiphany!

Feeling empty

I do not often admit to it, but today when trying to write a thought, I feel empty. No thoughts, no inspiration, no juice.

I suspect I am not the only person who has these days. There are some times when empty comes. And despite attempts to jump start thoughts, there are none.

I think that empty is good. Empty is a time to listen, instead of sharing. It is a time to check on being open, a time to stop. A time to reflect.

But how you can reflect when you are empty?

Simple. I am still. I stop trying to steer my journey and instead concentrate on surrender. Empty is good, because it reminds me that my journey is my journey. I often share the thoughts that I find helpful. Being empty helps me remember, not all thoughts are helpful to all. I have to accept that.

Surrender I think is the opposite to building. Sometimes when I fail to surrender to emptiness, I begin to build. But sometimes that building is not good building. I don't have to always build.

Surrender is a reminder of my frailty, my limits, my neediness. I am not god. I am a creature seeking Divinity.

Surrender is acting out this belief. It is letting God be God. It letting me be still.
 

Walking on the water: a New Year begins

A new beginning

A New Year begins, and for each one of us, a new challenge. Or not.

I repeat. For each one of us, a new challenge. Or not.

Remember when the gospel story of the disciples out on the sea of Galilee during a raging storm, and suddenly they see Jesus coming to them walking across the water? We tend to think of that as a nice little miracle, Jesus walking on water.

But in reality, it is not Jesus performing a miracle. It is Jesus showing us not to avoid the storm. If there was anywhere Jesus probably did NOT want to be, it was walking across the sea of Galilee during a raging storm, only to find that the disciples thought he was a ghost, and were more terrified of him then of the storm. But he went on.

That is the question I ask myself this 2012. What risks am I willing to take to reach my dream, to reach out to someone in need, to challenge my own self? Or do I stand back on shore, wanting safety?


How many wonderful things await us, but for fear of struggle, we stay back. We judge by what we think makes us happy instead of discerning the call that beckons us forth.

I am put in mind of something I read recently by Sy Safransky. He writes:  Years ago, I was trapped in a newspaper job I couldn't stand. Then I heard Graham Nash sing, "Make sure that the things you do keep us alive." The next day I walked to work, quit my job, and kept walking. Better to be a pilgrim without a destination, I figured, than to cross the wrong threshold every day.

Jesus walked on water into the storm. What am I willing to do? What am I willing to risk this New Year 2012? It may well tell the story of my true dreams.