SpiritBlog

MEDITATIONS ON A JOURNEY THROUGH THE GARDEN OF LIFE

PART ONE – MEDITATIONS FOR LENT

Thursday, March 16th, 2006

Wilderness pt 1

Spring is the cruelist of seasons.

It brings the promise of new life, rebirth and reawakening on the wings of song birds and newly-hatched butterflies.  With tantalizing swiftness we are reminded of life’s cycles and that all things must begin again.

Sadly, our winter is over.  Our treasured time of rest from the onrush of growth and change and dissipation has spent itself in the flowing sap and the warming breeze whistling through the trees and drowned out by the sound of lawn mowers starting up for the first time after collecting their share of garage dust.

And what is our reward?  The visual parade of Barlett Pears and Redbud trees and later the Azaleas and Rhododendrons?  No, it’s the itchy skin, irrtated eyes, clogged sinuses and raspy coughs of exacerbated allergies made rampant by miniscule torture devices called, collectively, pollen.

The wilderness is unforgiving and unsympathetic.  Nothing is new there, nothing is reborn, there is no hope. The journey through the wilderness begins with the realization that the path to follow is a hopeless one; that all must be shed and left behind before exploring its depths.

If we are to find God at the end of our journey then we must begin it by giving Him up, by leaving Him behind and by going as far into the wilderness as we can bear.

The Spring is cruel because it tempts us to think that God can rescue us before we have taken that journey.

Don’t count on it. The reality is just below the surface.

Tuesday, March 21st, 2006

Wilderness, pt 2

The headaches dominate me.

It’s part if that cruel spring.  Barbaric pollen interacts with my vascular system, constricting it and causing throbbing migraines.  Without the invention of Imitrex I would be in continual pain.

But the pain is also good to me.  It focuses me on the present and those things in the moment which are important. Like finding a darker place to sit.  Like getting out of the noise and seeking a quiet corner for reflection and peace.  Like allowing me that remarkable time when the headache passes and I realize it is gone.  I am swept with momentary relief.

As I walk through the wilderness, I encounter my demons, one at a time.  They rear their heads like the imagined Boogeymen of old, threatening to burn my terrified soul to a fried sliver of bacon-like residue if I do not give in to their seductive offers of spurious peace.  But there is enough left in me, enough faith in God, to see their offers for what they are and for me to begin to make choices.

They are masters, these Boogeymen.   They hide themselves within the fabric of the sweet spots of my dreams.  They wave their beguiling heads and I am pulled inexorably forward until I’ve reached a point of no return.

But return I do.  Like the Imitrex I take for my migraine, God courses through the veins of my soul and I find that place of peace to focus on the moment.

This time the relief is more than momentary.

Thursday, March 23rd, 2006

Wilderness, pt 3

“So what do you mean by demons?”, she asks.  “I don’t understand.”

My bubble of pride is burst as easily as a child breaks soap bubbles from a toy.  If she reads the words and doesn’t ask about the substance, I am safe.  I don’t have to confess that I am running away from the villians I sense lurking around the next corner.

Like the “low men” of Hearts in Atlantis, my demons come searching me out, posting signs on telephone poles until they are so close I can begin to give them names.

Fear.  Age.  Inadequacy.  Loneliness.  Blind pride.  Frailty.  Uselessness.

What becomes of me when I try to navigate these dangerous waters?  How can I see to the end when faced with the naked truth these demons so gleefully expose?

The sands of time bring the answer.

In place of Fear, Comfort.

In place of Age, Timelessness.

In place of Inadequacy, Strength.

In place of Loneliness, Companionship.

In place of Blind Pride, Perspective.

In place of Frailty, Spiritual Health.

In place of Uselessness, a place in the World.

On the flowing sands of time comes the knowledge of God who helps us to see beyond the demons to His saving Grace.

Sunday, April 2nd, 2006

Wilderness and Hope

In the Wilderness I cannot hide from my responsibility.

It’s so easy to do that out there.  Out there, I have others to take it from me. I have others to make excuses for me. I have so many nooks and crannies to hide within.

I am so good at it!

Here in the Wilderness there is no hiding, only the bareness of reality gaping wide with the decay of Sin.

There, I said it for the first time.  Sin.  That ancient concept thrown around by religious pundits, thrown up by televangelists, thrown away by sociopaths.  Sin.  That thing we all do but we know nothing about because we all think it’s something different.  Sin.   That ruler of our hearts and the gate keeper of the Wilderness.

Sin. Action taken while conciously rejecting the grace, wisdom and influence of God. Sin.

So, as I journey through the Wilderness, I witness my life of Sin — my life as I have chosen to live it outside of God’s grace, wisdom and influence — and I weep at the tragedy that I have spun out for myself.  And yet, even as I weep, I can see only one road ahead, only one ending.

But there are hidden paths in the Wilderness, laid there long before the Gatekeeper imagined the first distraction from God’s path.  And on those hidden paths lay Hope, Kindness, Forgiveness and Salvation.  They are the Promise God has made to all of us that we will be borne out of the Wilderness to witness the Resurrection of our relationship with God and the ultimate return to a life of faith and promise.

For many of us, we must pass one more gauntlet before finding that path to God.  The crucifixion, the ritual sacrifice of our Lord, provides a cathartic moment for us to divest ourselves of our old soul’s weaknesses and take on newness, refreshed by death being made into life.

I am approaching that moment now.  In just seven days the passion story will be read aloud in the chancel and the altar will be stripped.  Throughout Christendom personal Wildernesses will converge and the Gatekeeper will attempt to retain control.

Although I have seen many Lents, waved many palms, for me this is the first because this time I have been able to recognize the Wilderness in which I live.

In 14 days, God willing, I will step out into a new world.

Friday, April 14th, 2006

Good Friday in the Wilderness

The pain is unbearable.

God hovers on the outskirts of my consciousness, waiting for me to call Him to me. I open my mouth and all I am able to utter is a raspy exhalation desperate for a voice.  I reach out and I discover that my arms have lost their ability to respond to my commands and instead wrap themselves in a protective sheath to ward off the demons that assault me at every turn.  I ask my legs to carry me out but they are coiled in a useless heap underneath my heaving abdomen unable to move, unwilling to stand in the face of those things I fear.

When I believe it can get no worse, I look up and I see it.  There, on a protuberance in the middle of the burning wasteland is a figure.  Stark, senselessly distended, unutterably withered, is a Being I’ve never seen before but which is deeply familiar to me. The figure is hanging from a tree, nailed by the hands, reminiscent of but not the same as all of those crucifixes I’ve seen throughout my life.

The pain is unbearable.  I can feel it emanating from this thin apparition as palpable as the fear which never leaves me. I can’t bear to look because to do so would be to acknowledge that this Being’s pain is worse than my own and that in acknowledging it, I will somehow take responsibility for it and then be required to take action on behalf of that pain.

Despite my reluctance, I pull myself to Him. As I look into His eyes, a rush of familiarity overtakes me. I know that pain.  I know that fear.  It’s mine.  Not someone else’s.  In this Stranger’s eyes I am looking at an excruciatingly painful mirror of my soul.

In the midst of my reflected pain I can see in those eyes a flash of grace-filled benevolence. And in that moment I know who He is. And in knowing I am filled with the wonder for the sacrifice He is making by taking on my pain as His own. And by taking on the shroud of my fears.  And by being crippled by my demons.  And by being locked away behind my fences in false protection from the world.

The secret of the Wilderness is that God is there, too. Even when we think He is not with us.  He is there.  Walking with us.  Living in our suffering.

But in that presence, God is there giving our voices the power to call out to Him, giving our arms the will to embrace Him, giving our legs the strength to carry us to Him, Giving our hearts the sure knowledge that there is a path out of the Wilderness to the certain grace of the Resurrection.

Saturday, April 15th, 2006

Holy Saturday

And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief.
The dry stone no sound of water.

T.S. Elliot – The Wasteland

I no longer know what is real and what has been conjured in the recesses of my fear-racked imagination.  Yesterday, He was with me.  On that tree, in that place.  Yesterday, I knew Him and I could embrace what He was and I had rejoiced in the Knowing.

Today He is gone.

He hung on that tree and cried out in our shared agony and I was rapturous with the suffering.  Together we reached the pinnacle of our mutual damnation and it became clear to us both that we were seeking answers beyond our knowledge and our ability to grasp but which would be strangely easy to understand once we asked the right questions.

He looked at me from that tree and beckoned me to Him.  My legs moved easily now and it was all I could do to keep from running.  His gaze communicated a fullness and love that washed away the last shred of fear still lingering in my consciousness.

But the Wilderness is unforgiving.  It swallows all hope, banishes the smallest kernel of love, celebrates the bacchanal of the demons as they swirl around us while we try to escape. And so it was with Him. As his gaze of love and understanding pierced my heart, the light in his eyes began to fade. He called out for drink, called for His Father, then … I can’t bear to say it … He died.

In shock I leapt back and cried out in panic and loss. No! I’ve just found Him!

My legs were the first to go. They folded like a collapsing house of cards underneath me and refused to carry me even an inch past the foot of the tree. My arms wrapped once again around me and I folded into the protective covering lest the demons should enter in one more time.

O God! Where have you gone!

The panic was almost complete.  The loss, having just found Him, was unbearable.

O God, do not forsake us!

I turn to the tree once again. There hung the same senselessly distended, unutterably withered man I had met what seems a lifetime ago. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t speak. But looking at Him I was suddenly filled with a sure knowledge that it isn’t over yet. How I knew this I don’t know.

Until then, my grief is absolute and all-consuming.

Today, He is gone.

Sunday, April 16th, 2006

Easter – The Light in the Wilderness

As I awoke from my forgetful sleep, He was gone.

There on the distant protuberance, on that gnarled tree, He had hung and given me a glimpse of the Possible.

Now He is gone.

I closed my eyes to rejoin the grief from which I had drawn momentary respite and as I did so, I was overtaken by a vision far different than the expected pall I had sought. A Presence so opposite to the darkness intruded itself onto my consciousness.

To merely call this vision Light would limit the power and beauty with which I was overcome but Light it was, Light so powerful that it penetrated to the very core of my soul.

Yet at the heart of that searing rapturous cataclysm I sensed the same familiarity that drew me to the figure on the tree. And I was filled with an indescribable joy because just as I knew on that awful day that He knew me and my pain and my fear, I now understood that He also was welcoming me into the Light.

And that was the lesson from the Wilderness. He walks with us through the Wilderness, and He carries us into the Light.

PART TWO – THE BRAMBLE BUSH

Sunday, June 4th, 2006

Depth of Field

Depth of field.  When you reduce the amount of light coming through a camera’s aperture (the opening that lets light in), the greater will be your depth of field.  That means  the less light, the more will be in focus.

So, the first image has greater depth of field, and the second, taken of the same leaf with the same lense at approximately the same distance has shallow depth of field because I opened the aperture way up.  Only one or two bumps on the leaf are in focus.

It took me a while to get my head around this concept.  It all seemed counter-intuitive to me.  The more light that is on in a room, the more you can see, so the more is in focus.  The less light in a room, the less you can see, the less is in focus.

This contradiction is even carried to the symbolic: the more light one sheds on a problem, the more in focus that problem becomes. The more enlightened (educated) one becomes, the more one can focus his/her attention on many things.  That’s why we are always seeking more knowledge — so that we can use that information to understand the universe of ideas in which we live.  To get a grasp on the “gestalt” of our world so that we can, perhaps, find meaning in our individual existence.

So the physical reality of Depth of Field seems to contradict other realities I have come to depend on.

Or does it?  A small aperture might equate with little knowledge or a narrow point of view.  How often do we encounter people whose knowledge of life and the world is small at best but they express an assumed grasp on all of life’s deep issues?  Why is it that the more education one gets also seems to narrow one’s focus and we become less secure about our understanding of larger questions and focus instead on smaller issues which seem manageable?

I find photographs with shallow depth of field far more interesting than the other.  That’s because the camera finds an object, focuses on it sharply while everything else becomes a blur.

God’s Grace works like that.  If we open ourselves up to it in a limited way, if our ‘aperture’ is narrow, then we’ll be fooled into thinking that that is all there is to having a relationship with God.  His Grace will light up the world for us in a non-specific way, but, because we are unwilling to commit more than lip-service to the relationship, that will be all we will know if Him. It won’t be until the aperture opens all the way, until we open our hearts and allow God in and give up control to his Graceful presence, that we will realize what it means to have God fully present in our lives.  Then, everything around us will lose focus and only God and His Love and Grace will be sharply felt.

A Prayer of David. Incline Thine ear, O HaShem, and answer me; for I am poor and needy. Keep my soul, for I am godly; O Thou my God, save Thy servant that trusteth in Thee. Be gracious unto me, O Lord; for unto Thee do I cry all the day. Rejoice the soul of Thy servant; for unto Thee, O Lord, do I lift up my soul. For Thou, L-rd, art good, and ready to pardon, and plenteous in mercy unto all them that call upon Thee. Give ear, O HaShem, unto my prayer; and attend unto the voice of my supplications. In the day of my trouble I call upon Thee; for Thou wilt answer me.

Jewish source: Tanakh (Jewish Publication Society, 1917)

Take, O Lord, and receive all my liberty, my memory, my understanding and my will; all that I have and possess. You have given them to me; to you, O Lord, I restore them. All things are yours: Dispose of them according to your will. Give me your love and your grace; for this is enough for me.

St. Ignatius of Loyola

Monday, June 12th, 2006

Grace

Grace.

A son to eat lunch with.

Anger turned toward compassion.

Sacrifice for something greater than one’s own needs.

Tears shed for hurt and loneliness, assuaged by a loving spouse.

Victory over insurmountable obstacles captured in immutable memory.

A terrible burden lifted by faith alone and given up to God or Him to carry.

An eye open to the beauty of the soul, an ear open to the voice of the Spirit, a mind open to the completeness of Creation, and a spirit open to the many faces of the Living God.

Grief for loss and joy at new life all part of the same cloth, the tapestry of life, reminding us all of the existence we live and the tie we have to our Creator.

The knowledge that, no matter who we are, what we’ve done, where we’ve been, we will forever be enshrined with the Living God for we are part of Him, a beloved part of Him.

Grace. Amazing Grace.

Friday, July 7th, 2006

Seeking a way out of the Wilderness

Like all others, I was born to be a reflection of purity incarnate. I was born in the image of God and I was a gift to the world by God Himself.  I was quickened by the Breath of the Spirit and deposited on my mother’s swollen belly to nestle near her nipple for the refreshment of life and the reassurance of love.

The State of Grace which seemed infinite was merely illusory and I quickly discovered that my new world was more pain than comfort, more struggle than peace, more fear than safety.  I looked to my mother’s reassuring smile and my father’s strong arm to assuage and protect me and to teach me the ways of this inhospitable place.  Tutor me they did, and I grew in knowledge and skill so that the inhospitable soon became manageable and this strange place transformed into my home and I ruled above all.

But bordering my kingdom was that place into which I entered with only the greatest caution. Its name was Wilderness and it would be in that place that I would encounter the greatest dangers to my  soul.  Oddly, I would sometimes find myself there quite involuntarily, wandering through the dead trees and brambles, trying to find my way out again and only doing so when I had had an important moment of self-discovery, or when the Spririt had taken my hand and shown me the Way to safety.

I am there now, stuck in a bramble bush searching for a way out.  And while I am here I discover that I  am not alone.  The Wilderness is occupied by so many of us:  by the lonely, the destitute, the craven, the sinful, the prideful, the lustful.  We all share space in this place, aching for a way to ascend to where we can find God and leave the thorns behind.

I thirst for the comfort of God, seeking His peace while suckling on the breast of loving kindness.

Monday, July 10th, 2006

A gift of love and compassion

Tonight I witnessed the result of God-given Grace.

God works in us in ways that are unexpected and frequently go against the popular version of the influence of the Spirit.

Take tonight.

I’ve known him for many years.  He has a wonderful spirit and a giving soul, but there has always been a shadow over it.  Nothing you could put a finger on, but it wasn’t hard to guess that somewhere inside him was an angry voice stuck in the brambles trying to unleash itself from a self-imposed prison.   Like the sound of the surf that you barely hear in the distance, you could feel an undercurrent of sadness that you couldn’t pin down or perhaps even name.

I saw him yesterday for the first time in many weeks and I knew right away that there was a difference.  “Wow, you look great!”  He laughs.  “Must be the weight I’ve lost.”  “No, that’s not it,” I put in, thoughtfully, “it’s something about the way you, well, look.”

And it’s true.  He’s happier and more content than I’ve seen him in years.

“I came out this year,”  he tells me confidently, “after struggling with this for 29 years, I finally decided that I can no longer live this way.”

As I look at my friend’s face, as I feel his inner peace and listen to him discuss his firm Christian faith and how he has been reconciled to God,  I realize that he has been given a great gift of Grace and that he is honoring me by sharing knowledge of it. God has shown him the light of his love, has lifted the burden of guilt and retribution from his faithful shoulders and in so doing reminds us that the Gospels are filled with the power of love, healing and Grace for those who are in the most pain:

28: Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. 29: Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. 30: For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light. Matt:11

Praise God for the Peace He has given this man.  May we learn from this Gift of Grace so that others might be granted the same love and compassion.

Friday, July 14th, 2006

Listening for his call

He stands at the top of the trail peering down toward me, gesturing to me to follow.

It is hard for me to see him through the veil of my anger.  Purple, corrugated rivulets of emotion flutter before my eyes obscuring my sensibilities, causing me to lose my way.  I look up and can no longer see him, can no longer hear his call.

All I have is my anger to fill the loneliness, so I cling to it.  I wrap it around me forming a cloak of comfort and it protects me from the chilling reality of the world.  I am afraid to let go.

He calls again.  This time His voice is deeper, richer.  He asks me to discard my cloak for a minute and  trust that the chill will pass quickly.  “The anger has a purpose,” the voice says.

I have to consider this.  But in thinking I cannot believe so I pull my cloak over my head and huddle even more deeply behind my protective and familiar curtain of pain and remembrance.

Soon the curtain of anger solidifies into a impermeable barrier to resolution.  And while I imagine the emotion to be gone and life to be back to normal, I still have not taken His hand and stepped away from the pit of self-destruction, but have only built a fantasy land where life is a strange imitation of itself.

Then, like incoming shells from a hidden enemy, a sudden reminder of the roots of my inner anger pierces my consciousness and the layers of protective Kevlar with which I have surrounded myself peel away more easily than a Vidalia onion.  I cry out.

I cry out for He who was waiting at the top of the hill with His hand out and His offer of succor and peace.

I look up and He is still there, gesturing in the same way He did before.  Only this time the fluttering waves of anger are falling away from my eyes in place of a clarity of desire for  the peace and understanding I know He is offering.  “Let go of that anger,”  he says,  “it’s in the past.  Name those whom you must forgive and then set it aside.  Forever.  Most of all, find a place in your heart to forgive yourself.”

He guides me now, down the freshly swept path, away from the world of my anger.  I am walking the road of resolution and renewal at the direction of this Spirit.  The cloak of love protects me far more soothingly than that of anger, far more permanently than that of denial.

It is the dawn of a new life for me.  I am learning to listen for His call, because in that summons is the promise of self-understanding, service to God and the gift of Grace.

Salutation to the Dawn

Look to this day!
For it is life, the very life of life.
In its brief course
Lie all the verities and realities of your existence:
The bliss of growth;
The glory of action;
The splendor of achievement;
For yesterday is but a dream,
And tomorrow is only a vision;
But today, well lived, makes every yesterday
a dream of happiness,
And every tomorrow a vision of hope.

- Attributed to Kalidasa                                    Hindu, appropriate for many faiths

Saturday, July 22nd, 2006

Another moment of anger

Rage and anxiety swirl to the surface seething beyond control.  He looks for ways to hurt, projecting his anger by finding a target and sinking his spear into a heart unprepared for the rejection and meanness that is thrust at it from this unanticipated direction.

Reflex strikes back with equanimity. Seering comeback followed by glare and coldness communicates that the original assault has had its effect and that although the target was found it has not been disabled.

The counter-assault has a passive nature.  It is a feint which throws the aggressor off balance and leads him to believe that he has gotten away with his anger and that he now has control of himself and his opponent.

But control is illusory because anger controls us all.  When he least expects it, his opponent lashes out and digs a knife into his soul’s spleen and begins a bleed that becomes impossible to staunch.

Anger empowers us for self-discovery but not to control. It empowers us for greater sensitivity to the pain around us, but not to giving pain to others.  It empowers us to be closer to God by elevating our awareness of our connection to others, but not by rejecting others.

God give us all the strength to learn this lesson well.

God grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change;
courage to change the things I can;
and wisdom to know the difference.

Living one day at a time;
Enjoying one moment at a time;
Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace;
Taking, as He did, this sinful world
as it is, not as I would have it;
Trusting that He will make all things right
if I surrender to His Will;
That I may be reasonably happy in this life
and supremely happy with Him
Forever in the next. Amen.

Friday, July 28th, 2006

Guilt

Nearly every day I stand at the tip of the crevasse and peer over the edge at the ‘might-have-beens’ and the ’should-have-dones’. I stare at each until I see their stark detail, piecing together the jigsaw of mistake, hurt, justification and regret.

I long to touch the essence of those memories, bringing them back and reabsorbing them into my soul so that each can be lived again more fully, honor restored, spirit lifted, head held high.

Sadly, the fantasy fades and the chasm widens to an insurmountable distance.

I turn from the crevasse and put it out of my mind.

Like the monk finding a discipline for the spirit, I will make this pilgrimage to the abyss again and again until the altars of guilt can be climbed and the blood sacrifice of responsibility can be assuaged and assigned.

And then the crevasse closes and I am free to feed my soul.

Revised 7/29

Saturday, July 29th, 2006

Estrangement

She walks alone seeking company.  Her hand extends to the Other.  The look in her eye, guarded but hopeful, seeks intimacy and companionship but expects neither.

“Walk with me,” she says.

The Other turns toward her in mute indifference and responds with steely coldness. “Why?”

How does she explain? How can she express the need to connect with this Other who is flesh of her flesh, blood of her blood?

She tries again. “Because I love you.”

The Other continues on.

“Because I love you.”

The Other turns. “That’s not enough. It’s never been enough. I need something out of it. What do I get out of it?”

“You get my care, support and trust. And the knowledge that I will always be there for you.”

The Other keeps walking. The silence grows and so does the tension between the two.

“That’s not all, is it?”

“What do you mean?”

“You want something from me, too. You always want something from me.” The Other’s voice rises.

“I want you to walk with me.”

“No, you want more. You want more from me than I can give. So much that I will never be able to give it. … Well, I don’t have it in me. I keep trying and I don’t have it! So I won’t try any more!!”

“All I want is for you to walk with me. The rest is your choice. I will love you no matter what.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I know. Nevertheless, that is all I want. When you decide to join me, I will still be on this path.”

She continues walking on, occasionally looking over her shoulder at the Other. All she can see is a dim lonely outline occasionally more visible as the Other turns her way.

And that’s when she holds out her hand.

Monday, July 31st, 2006

Intimacy

She calls from across the distant space, the sound fading in its tired journey to my ear.

“Walk with me,” she calls wistfully.

I don’t hear her.  I never hear her.  The call comes and I turn my back before the arrow of her vocalise can reach my cochlea and I am transformed by her desire and my longing.

What keeps me from turning there?  Why do I stop myself from talking the gift of her lilac soft soul into my heart and finding peace where I have had none?

“Walk with me,” comes the call again and I shudder in apprehension of the unavoidable pain.

I fear the ride of intimacy.  The opening up of self and soul to the archer in my midst leaves me vulnerable to unacceptable revelation, and I can hide that which I have kept hidden all these years no longer.

“Walk with me.  Trust me.”  The reviewer I fear the most is not my companion but the harshest judge of all, the One that  is most critical of all my actions, the One I have been hiding these things from all my life.  To reveal them now means that they are real and I will have to accept that reality in the fullest.

I have nowhere to turn.  The Voice is still there.  The extended hand still offers hope and fear.  Hope, because in grasping that hand and living through those fears, I can come out the other side whole and strong.  Fear, because the truth could destroy me.

I reach out blindly, reluctant to take that step, knowing now that I have no choice.  I take the Hand.  Slowly, a breeze catches my face.  It’s a soft wind with a lilac smell.  In that wind I can hear a small voice singing softly to me:

Walk with Me and take the Grace I give you.
Your heart is mine to hold, your soul for all to view
In nakedness and stark reality
Its beauty not ugliness we see.

Rejoice in the release of life blessed by the winded Spirit free
That conquered fear and took the hand of Divine security.

Saturday, August 5th, 2006

Tunnel

There doesn’t seem to be a way out.  The tunnel fades into blackness.  “She has to find the way out herself,” they are saying.

She struggled so when she started down that road.  She was confused and unrooted.  She had one great feminine foundation onto which she clung, a foundation that was the heart of her heart and the flesh of her flesh. But she wanted the male roots as well and her natural one had whithered as so many do.

He came into the picture then and tried to fit that bill of lading.  He tried.  Lord knows he tried, but he had issues of his own to deal with and they became the weeds in her garden. In spite of that, he contributed what fertilizer he could to that already deeply planted and and she grew a strong taproot.

And she became wonderfully formed and productive thanks mostly to the unnoticed strength of her maternal care.  A poster child for the “Me Generation”, she married, acquired, had children, acquired, and never reflected backward.

She became successful.  She had beautiful children and a wonderful husband.  She  made a wonderful life for herself.  Happiness eluded her.

She looked back sometimes at the two who were her guides through her growth and could never discover the reason why she had to love them.  She did not believe that they made her successful, or gave her children or her wonderful life.  So there must not be a good reason to love them.

But she felt guilty, and her guilt overstepped responsibility and avoidance trumped love and forgiveness.  And so, in order to  not feel that way, she exorcised them from her life:

“You don’t appreciate what I’ve become; I am tense around you and it’s because I always have to measure up to your standards; there is no reason that I should have to endure your disapproval any longer; my children don’t need to see me being put down in front of them; I’ve had it.”

And so, the journey through this tunnel has begun.  She can’t find the end of it.  She hasn’t talked to them for months.

Monday, August 14th, 2006

The Sinner

There is no such thing as the Sword of Truth.

No ‘fell’ Rescuer to sweep you in the nick of time from danger and the wrong fork in the road.  No wizards to interpret prophecies so that you will not make the choice to ruin your life when you are on the brink of saving it.

There is just you.  Your free will and you.

And, of course, God.

* * *

He walks through the crisply cut late-summer lawns kicking up leavings of a late-afternoon mowing listening to the sweet song of the lone bird who seems to be the only avian awake this morning.  His thoughts wander to futures undefined and unimagined and his heart races in anticipation of the changes.

“Won’t it be wonderful,” he coos like a Whippoorwill, “to stretch my legs once again and gain the admiration of the young.”

***

He snags his leg on an unseen bramble.  It’s happened before, this snag.  He knows that snags are important.  They are important because they have meanings beyond merely stopping him in his tracks. He has learned before that if he carefully and sensitively removes the bramble, the path opens up for him and he can move freely to wherever he wants to go.  It has happened so many times that it should be second nature to him to stop, consider the bramble, understand its nature and remove it without disruption.

But today, his mind is elsewhere.  He sees the bramble today as benign.  Today he believes he has nothing to worry about.

***

He can’t find his way.  He has been down this path and it leads nowhere.  He turns, circles, turns again, and now he knows there is no longer a way out. He has miscalculated.  He has neglected to consider the bramble.  He’s paying for it now.

He finds the bog of degradation and steps willingly into the middle of the mire.  He revels in the murk of his failure and believes that there may never be a way out.  There is comfort here in the warm mud.  It lulls him into the familiar sheaf of shame.

But that bird’s song he heard earlier in the morning will not leave him alone.  An ache starts within and he seeks redemption from the wounded one.

He asks the bramble for forgiveness.

***

But forgiveness is not the bramble’s to give.

So he seeks another.

***

“Forgiveness is not what you seek.  It’s release.”

“Yes.”

“I offer something else.  I offer a path away from failure toward light.”

“Yes.”

“It’s hard.”

“Yes.”

“It requires change; it requires sacrifice; it requires courage; it requires love.”

“Yes.”

***

He walks through the crisply cut late-summer lawns kicking up leavings of a late-afternoon mowing listening to the sweet song of the lone bird who seems to be the only avian awake this morning.  His thoughts wander to the Grace he has been granted in being able to wander these paths one more time.

He looks down.  There, near his pant leg, is a violet chrysanthemum waving lightly in the breeze.  The brambles are gone now, replaced by flowers of every shape and color.  They are gifts for him, gifts to remind him that he himself is a gift from God and that Grace powers his life, not through his acts, but through the powerful and loving gifts of God.

I have been to the River

The Wilderness looks different today.

The journey seems the same,
The walk down the bramble-strewn pathway
Toward the barren hilltop
Should constrict my breath as

I begin the inevitable journey
Toward the confrontation with the
One who wanly guards the valley
Of self-reproach and denial.

Waiting to strip me of my pretense
And leave me with little but my naked
Breast heaving in disquietude, he gazes triumphant as I
Approach the crest toward inevitable intersection.

As he opens his gaping mouth to sally forth with
Accusations wild, his throat is caught mid-
Groan and his blood-hued eyes widen with
Disbelief at what he sees.

I am not as I was.

I gaze back at him with blazing eyes
Free of the guilt to which he clings,
Full of the Love he hates and now
Shining with the music he hears me sing:

“I have been to the river and dipped my hand
In the flowing water of life.
I have been to the river and dipped my hand
And it has buoyed me from the strife,

I have allowed him to turn me away
From what I already knew was true
But had forgotten.  God is in control and
I am his Leaf on the Wind.

I have been to the river and dipped my hand
God, having washed my hands and feet, has
Wrapped me in a towel of Forgiveness and Hope and
Carried me to His bed to sleep.”

I can see down the other side of the Hill,
Self-Reproach and denial gone for now.
I walk happily down the new forest road,
Wondering when I will see the man

With the gaping mouth again.
I know I will, but somehow, I don’t care.
For now, I am ready for the season of the Maccabes,
and for the season of the Nativities,

Because I have been to the River.