I've been going to St. Procopius Benedictine Abbey for spiritual retreats off and on now since the mid-1990s. At first, I was pretty regimented about the whole process. I'd follow a strict guideline of when to pray, when to read, and when to attend prayer and worship with the monks. I don't regret that way of going about it because I think it helped me get accustomed to actually going on a spiritual retreat. With experience, though, I've cut myself much more slack. If I feel like reading, I read. If I feel like praying, I pray. If I feel like napping, I nap. If I feel like going for a walk, I head outside. I still attend all the communal opportunities for prayer and worship (there are four a day), but I now go into each retreat not really sure what will come out of it. Usually a verse or theme emerges.
One of the things I like about St. Procopius is that nothing much changes. The same monks are here, the same schedule is pretty much kept, and I stay in the same room. It's been more than a year since I last came out here, though, and change is happening. Seven monks died in 2009, including two I knew somewhat well. Father Thomas, the guest master (think of him as the concierge of St. Procopius), who always seemed ageless to me, is also slowing down a bit.
It struck me this morning that "change" would emerge as the theme of this retreat. Not just my observation of change taking place here at the abbey, but the change that needs to always take place within me. This isn't a novel revelation, but I realize that I've been spending way too much time lately wanting other people to change to adjust to my wants and needs and way too little time praying for a changed heart within me.
That can be a daunting prayer: I'm ready for my heart-my life-to change, O God. Eugene Peterson notes, "Be slow to pray. Praying puts us at risk of getting involved with God's conditions...Praying most often does get us what we want but what God wants, something quite at variance with what we conceive to be in our best interests. And when we realize what is going on, it is often too late to go back."
It's a risky prayer, to be sure. But I kind of like where this prayer is leading me during this Lenten season.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Friday, February 19, 2010
Melting snow reveals blechy stuff
It was a warmer day yesterday and the sun was out which makes life much happier for lots of people, but I found myself feeling a little bleah yesterday afternoon. I think one reason is that with warmer temperatures comes melting snow and that means trash and dog excrement are revealed. I was walking around a nearby neighborhood yesterday and it wasn't a pretty sight. That's the thing about living in the city. I find myself either really, really liking it (which is about 80 percent of the time) or really, really not (that would be about 20 percent of the time). Not sure why the bleah feeling came about because it's been a very good week for the church. About ready to announce the hiring of our new worship leader and worship venue.
I'm hoping I can keep up with this Lenten practice of reading through the Marks of a Christian from Romans 12. Today's mark: Hate what is evil. If that doesn't spur all kinds of reflection, I don't know what will. Hate? Evil?
I'm hoping I can keep up with this Lenten practice of reading through the Marks of a Christian from Romans 12. Today's mark: Hate what is evil. If that doesn't spur all kinds of reflection, I don't know what will. Hate? Evil?
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Marked
We went to my daughter's school on Tuesday night for a Fat Tuesday celebration and, of course, when you gather lots and lots of kids in a gymnasium with pizza, sweets, and a D.J., it's a jolt to your senses (at least to my 42-year-old senses). One of the highlights for our kids--as it often is at an event like this--was getting their faces painted. I was grumbling a bit because the line was long and the artists seemed to be taking their sweet time about it, but I must say that these were some pretty cool designs. Caroline had a kind-of Mardi Gras design and Ethan had a dragon on his face. There was no way they wanted to wash these marks off when we got home so they slept on towels over their pillows that night. Ethan was a particularly careful sleeper, I think, and may have slept on his back the whole night.
Yesterday hundreds of people were walking around downtown with a different design on their faces, or, specifically, their foreheads. Ash Wednesday. Many people heard the sobering yet important words, "Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return." I was marked with my ash cross over the noon hour and received a few double takes, including a woman on the L who asked about it.
The kids on Tuesday night and the many yesterday were all marked for different reasons and the passage I was reading this morning really jumped out at me as a great text to relate to these marks. Romans 12:9-21 is often entitled "Marks of the True Christian" and it's a powerful list of entreaties written by a man named Paul. Depending on how you break them up, there are 25 or so ways to measure whether we have these marks. Let love be genuine. Do not lag in zeal. Be patient in suffering. Persevere in prayer. I think I may use this as a key text during these next 40-plus days of Lent as I wonder about the marks in/on my heart and whether people can see them as easily as a dragon or an ash cross.
Yesterday hundreds of people were walking around downtown with a different design on their faces, or, specifically, their foreheads. Ash Wednesday. Many people heard the sobering yet important words, "Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return." I was marked with my ash cross over the noon hour and received a few double takes, including a woman on the L who asked about it.
The kids on Tuesday night and the many yesterday were all marked for different reasons and the passage I was reading this morning really jumped out at me as a great text to relate to these marks. Romans 12:9-21 is often entitled "Marks of the True Christian" and it's a powerful list of entreaties written by a man named Paul. Depending on how you break them up, there are 25 or so ways to measure whether we have these marks. Let love be genuine. Do not lag in zeal. Be patient in suffering. Persevere in prayer. I think I may use this as a key text during these next 40-plus days of Lent as I wonder about the marks in/on my heart and whether people can see them as easily as a dragon or an ash cross.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
A reminder of God's love
We all have our routines before we go to bed and I'm glad to say that reading Harry Potter aloud to my daughter has become one for us (I don't know whether she appreciates my doing a variety of voices for all the characters, but I have a lot of fun with it).
In addition to J.K. Rowling and prayers and brushing teeth, I always tell her I love her before I head out of her room. Every once in a while, though, I want to make sure she really hears me so I kneel down at her level and I her ask her if she really knows how proud her mom and I are of her and how deeply we love her. A smile usually comes across her face and she nods her head. I think she appreciates that extra effort.
The news that God loves us may not be novel. For some, this may be a radical thing, but others spent many a Sunday School class singing "Jesus loves me, this I know" over and over and over. Every once in a while, though, I think God stops and tries to convey this in a different way so that we really know the depth of that love. I read something by the spiritual writer Henri Nouwen this week that was a good reminder for me. Nouwen writes how he imagines what God might be saying to him:
"I have called you by name, from the very beginning. You are mine and I am yours. You are my Beloved, on you my favor rests. I have molded you in the depths of the earth and knitted you together in your mother's womb. I have carved you in the palms of my hands and hidden you in the shadow of my embrace. I look at you with infinite tenderness and care for you with a care more intimate than that of a mother and her child. I have counted every hair on your head and guided you at every step. Wherever you go, I go with you, and wherever you rest, I keep watch. I will give you food that will satisfy all your hunger and drink that will quench all your thirst. I will not hide my face from you. You know me as your own as I know you as my own. You belong to me. I am your father, your mother, your brother, your sister, your lover and your spouse...yes, even your child...wherever you are I will be. Nothing will ever separate us. We are one."
I believe God says this to all of us. All. Of. Us. May we never forget it.
In addition to J.K. Rowling and prayers and brushing teeth, I always tell her I love her before I head out of her room. Every once in a while, though, I want to make sure she really hears me so I kneel down at her level and I her ask her if she really knows how proud her mom and I are of her and how deeply we love her. A smile usually comes across her face and she nods her head. I think she appreciates that extra effort.
The news that God loves us may not be novel. For some, this may be a radical thing, but others spent many a Sunday School class singing "Jesus loves me, this I know" over and over and over. Every once in a while, though, I think God stops and tries to convey this in a different way so that we really know the depth of that love. I read something by the spiritual writer Henri Nouwen this week that was a good reminder for me. Nouwen writes how he imagines what God might be saying to him:
"I have called you by name, from the very beginning. You are mine and I am yours. You are my Beloved, on you my favor rests. I have molded you in the depths of the earth and knitted you together in your mother's womb. I have carved you in the palms of my hands and hidden you in the shadow of my embrace. I look at you with infinite tenderness and care for you with a care more intimate than that of a mother and her child. I have counted every hair on your head and guided you at every step. Wherever you go, I go with you, and wherever you rest, I keep watch. I will give you food that will satisfy all your hunger and drink that will quench all your thirst. I will not hide my face from you. You know me as your own as I know you as my own. You belong to me. I am your father, your mother, your brother, your sister, your lover and your spouse...yes, even your child...wherever you are I will be. Nothing will ever separate us. We are one."
I believe God says this to all of us. All. Of. Us. May we never forget it.
Wednesday, February 03, 2010
At the extremes
Ash Wednesday isn't for a couple more weeks so I'm jumping the gun a bit on this post, but this thought came to me a couple days ago and I wanted to record it.
I've been thinking a little bit about (take your pick) Satan/the devil/evil force/the enemy lately. I don't know if I've ever clearly come to some decision about what exactly I believe about God's opposite, but I do believe there is opposite force/power in our world. However you name it, I've been struck lately that this force will often take me to the extremes. For example, I've been feeling a little anxious lately about our new church's finances and whether enough money will be forthcoming in gifts and pledges. Nothing in particular has happened that should plant this doubt in my mind--just stuff I ruminate on when I wake up at 3 a.m. But the anxiety gets planted and then takes me to places I shouldn't really go, e.g. it's a bad economy so we'll never have enough money and I should never have left my previous church and oh, woe, is me...
You see? Taken to an extreme that isn't good for anybody.
On the other hand, it's also not good to be at the other end of that extreme, namely, oh, don't worry about it at all. The money will come so there's no need to plan or ask for money or start teaching about stewardship. That also won't get us anywhere.
This same kind of thinking has applied when I think about my own gifts and graces. I've been at one extreme where I think that I have no talents at all and I should just probably quit the ministry and I've been at the other end where I think that, quite possibly, I may be the best preacher in the country. Not good to be at either end.
What does this have to do with Ash Wednesday? A common text that people reflect on early in Lent is the story of Jesus' temptation by Satan (Luke 4:1-13). Satan tempts Jesus to do some pretty extreme stuff. Turn a stone into bread. Jump off the pinnacle of the Temple. Jesus doesn't fall for this trap, though, and begins his ministry.
Balance has always been important to me and I think that's true when thinking about a force that pushes me to extremes. I'd rather be centered in the unfailing love of God.
I've been thinking a little bit about (take your pick) Satan/the devil/evil force/the enemy lately. I don't know if I've ever clearly come to some decision about what exactly I believe about God's opposite, but I do believe there is opposite force/power in our world. However you name it, I've been struck lately that this force will often take me to the extremes. For example, I've been feeling a little anxious lately about our new church's finances and whether enough money will be forthcoming in gifts and pledges. Nothing in particular has happened that should plant this doubt in my mind--just stuff I ruminate on when I wake up at 3 a.m. But the anxiety gets planted and then takes me to places I shouldn't really go, e.g. it's a bad economy so we'll never have enough money and I should never have left my previous church and oh, woe, is me...
You see? Taken to an extreme that isn't good for anybody.
On the other hand, it's also not good to be at the other end of that extreme, namely, oh, don't worry about it at all. The money will come so there's no need to plan or ask for money or start teaching about stewardship. That also won't get us anywhere.
This same kind of thinking has applied when I think about my own gifts and graces. I've been at one extreme where I think that I have no talents at all and I should just probably quit the ministry and I've been at the other end where I think that, quite possibly, I may be the best preacher in the country. Not good to be at either end.
What does this have to do with Ash Wednesday? A common text that people reflect on early in Lent is the story of Jesus' temptation by Satan (Luke 4:1-13). Satan tempts Jesus to do some pretty extreme stuff. Turn a stone into bread. Jump off the pinnacle of the Temple. Jesus doesn't fall for this trap, though, and begins his ministry.
Balance has always been important to me and I think that's true when thinking about a force that pushes me to extremes. I'd rather be centered in the unfailing love of God.
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