So many friends with afflictions, sorrows that feel like more than one can bear. And yet, with God’s help we do get through it. Jesus suffered but then we remember, that's not the end of the story. We call His words, “I will be with you until the end of the age.”
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I just got word that a young mother, a wife, friend, a woman full of light and love has died. What can we make of such unfairness? We lament like Job, like the psalmists. Like Jesus we call out, ‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?’ I am grateful for all these laments, especially for Jesus’ words that let me know that I can be angry, that anger, despair, and even hopelessness are all part of the human condition. Simone Weil writes: “Affliction constrained Christ to implore that he might be spared, to seek consolation from man, to believe he was forsaken by the Father. It forced a just man to cry out against God, a just man as perfect as human nature can be, more so perhaps, if Job is less a historical character than a figure of Christ.” Jesus and Job called out to God in their affliction, but they never left God, they never stop believing in God’ love; they just didn’t understand. That’s where I am now, trying to understand, waiting in hope for the resurrection. Thank God the story isn’t over. I’m at the cottage, so grateful to wake up in this sacred place; the silence, solitude and simplicity is palpable. I arose at 5:15 and sat of the deck (living room) for almost two hours, just being in God’s presence as it washed over me—it remains with me still. I am blessed to be here with no obligations other than to take care of myself in the most rudimentary ways--eat, sleep and be safe. But blessings are not to be coveted or selfishly held, and so I know I have another obligation, one that God has given me, and that is to pray for others. When I am here, it is easier for me to clear out the cobwebs of chatter, judgment, critique and analysis that get in the way of being with God. When I am here, the space between God and me (and others) is transparent, and that, I believe is when prayer is heard and answered. Prayer, God, faith, hope, all such mysteries, and yet today I sense I have a handle on it all. I am especially praying for a friend whose son just took his life, and for a few others who are walking a precarious road. I know that my prayers are being heard and answered. ‘Very grateful.’ How do I explain this without adding to the problem? Need I tell you about all the negativity that is being expressed in this country and throughout the world? We’re in a cycle where it seems that we start every conversation with what isn’t working, how bad it all is. Today the joys and concerns at church were particularly heavy. Cancer, surgery, sadness or all kinds. I don’t doubt their truth (I even contributed), but where were the joys? Were they not worth celebrating? Where was the balance? I’m not a Pollyanna, nor is my head in the sand. But I believe that we reap what we sow, that evil begets evil, that too much negativity can drag us down. I also have faith in a loving God, a God who greets us with gratitude. And so, I am going to greet each day with gratitude; and then as I continue along my way, I’m going to greet each person I meet with a joy. It will be my little contribution to helping us regain a realistic balance of joy and concern. Please join me in this little project. We can make a difference. Care for the poor, a phrase out there in the ethos these days, from the lips of Pope Francis, scattered among political rhetoric, and expressed from the pulpit and pews of my church. It’s easy to think of the poor as ‘other’, you know, those who are homeless and needing our welfare, certainly not me! But that is not so. Depending on a given circumstance, we are all poor. The blessing is that when we are poor, we need help. And when we need help, we give others the opportunity do just that. Good thing, because tomorrow the roles may be reversed. It is said that it is more blessed to give than to receive, but that just won’t work if there are no receivers. We all have to take a turn at each of the roles. A friend recently reached out for help as she prepares for serious surgery in a few weeks. She will be poor in strength and in her ability to care for herself. She can’t play the I can do it all myself card that we all like to put out on the table. Humility is the new game. She’ll have to admit that she is poor, which is without a doubt one of the hardest things that any of us has to do. In asking for help she has already done so; her poverty is making her rich indeed, rich in faith and hope. I am continually in awe when I visit the Convent of San Marco. My favorite place in all of Florence; an icon of 15th century Florentine Renaissance history, art and faith. Sitting in the inviting cloister offers plenty of solace. But then, there is the breath-taking approach at the head of the staircase leading to the Upper Floor. The Annunciation. An ‘aesthetic experience’, for sure. I spent a long time in front of this fresco this morning. It’s always been a favorite because I can’t help but look at it and wonder what God is calling me to do. And then there is the humility that Mary exudes, which I can almost feel within my reach. If this isn’t enough, walk down the corridors and peak into the dormitory cells, each with a fresco by Fra Angelico depicting a scene from the life of Christ. If only I could live there, I would pick Cell 1--Noli me tangere, with Jesus telling Mary Magdalene, “Do not to touch me, for I am not yet ascended to the Father.” I love the colors and the composition, and I have always been mystified by Jesus’ comment, for I often feel an approach-avoidance with Jesus. But here is a direct rebuff. It is a seminal moment. Mary has to wait until Jesus ascends, and when he does, Mary becomes all of us, and Jesus becomes accessible to us all.
Give me a kind heart that will endure, One that's strong and secure. To help someone along the way, May this be my goal everyday. Let me lend a helping hand To someone whose life has not gone as planned. Reaching out to one in need, May this be my daily good deed, To provide a guiding light For someone lost in the dark of night, Let me take time to care For someone experiencing despair, Whatever I do, everywhere I go, Your will, dear Lord, let me know. Eve Kiley I say this prayer every morning. It’s one my mom gave me when she was 95, six years before she died. “I try to help someone every day,’ she told me, ‘and I want you to have a copy of this prayer that I read every day.” With that, Mom marched down to the front desk where she was living, prayer in hand, and asked Delia to make a copy for me. My mom was very wise. She knew that when we repeat something, be it a poem, scripture or prayer, we begin to internalize the message and act on it. I guess that’s what she wanted from me. In this prayer we are asking God to guide us in lending a helping hand in a variety of situations: some, just minor bumps along life’s road; others, life changing, life chattering caverns. · To someone whose life has not gone as planned: this might be for those who, looking back over their life, had thought and hoped that they would have experienced more joys. · Reaching out to one in need: this might involve a small act of kindness for a small need. · For someone lost in the dark of night: this might be for someone who is not certain of the right decisions to make during a particular stretch in life. · For someone experiencing despair: this might be for someone in the midst of terrible tragedy was feeling no hope or resolution. This prayer starts by asking God to give us kind heart. Um, I thinking that that’s where prayer for others begins. Tomorrow’s daily quote: “We are not perfectly free until we live in pure hope.” Every day I read, Through the Year with Thomas Merton: Daily Meditations from His Writings, and every day I restrain myself from quoting Merton again. This book was published in 1983, so of course it’s out of print. But, acting in pure hope, I checked AbeBooks.com and Amazon and yes, it’s available. This July 9th quote spoke out to me. I really want to say that it shouted out to me, but that isn’t quite the image. No, it’s more like it glowed into me. I’m reminded of Hebrews 11:1: “Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.” Hope is no naïve way of being; rather it is part of faith. When I hope through faith I am praying and when I am praying I feel free, free of my petty desires, free to trust in God. Um, what I just wrote isn’t as easy as it sounds. My faith often gets shaky and I continually fall down, but hope assures me to keep searching for things not seen, things such as peace, love, God. I’m at the Philly airport waiting for my flight to Boston. It’s been a day of sitting, which isn’t easy for me, so I’ve decided to get out my computer and see what prayer thoughts I’ve brought with me from Iona. Let’s see what appears. I have to believe that everyone who visits Iona is a least open to experiencing God in some way. They come knowing that the island is a sacred place. They wander about with their feet a little off the ground, hoping, praying, anticipating that the ‘thin space’ will open up to them, that the veil between heaven and earth will be lifted for at least a moment. We are all there on common ground, which makes Iona a spiritually safe place. People smile (or not), say hello (or not); personal space is never invaded; self-consciousness doesn’t exist on the island. Moving off-island and back into every day life is always a challenge, and on the plane today adjustment seems rather harsh. A few rows forward, two men and one woman talked the entire trip; their voices were loud and I got most of the bits of their conversation. I have to remember that they haven’t been to Iona, but that I have, and so I try not to judge them. I wanted them to quiet down and let me hear the hum of airplane silence. There I was, another opportunity to practice non reactive awareness. To the best of my recollection this is the first time that my two blogs have shared the same entry. But today is the day for a new first. Today there is no seam between my cottage by the sea and my prayer diary. In my last blog I wrote about the open-air memorial on Copley Square to the victims of the Boston bombing. When I was there, it felt that it had sprung up from the heart of every visitor and that that love continued to tend it day after day. I now have some more information about this phenomenon. I quote from the First Parish of Sudbury Unitarian Universalist 327 Concord Rd., Sudbury, MA 01776 newsletter. The words are those of Interim Minister Rev. Tracey Robinson-Harris. (For the full text of John Millspaugh’s reflection go to http://www.uuworld.org/life/articles/285333.shtml) “The Rev. John Millspaugh was on Boylston Street recently. He writes, In front of a shuttered storefront, three small white wooden crosses stood with elegant simplicity, each bearing the name and picture of one of the three victims who died on April 15. . .adorned with ribbons and paper hearts, mementos and religious figurines . . . Because the police’s physical investigation was drawing to a close and Boylston Street would soon reopen, DPW workers were relocating the objects from the impromptu shrine to a larger one in Copley Square. At first, we passersby simply watched the DPW men as they loaded . . . items into their white van. Gradually . . . we flowed past barricades to help them with their holy labor. . . Both spectators and DPW workers seemed hesitant to remove the three wooden crosses standing alone on the granite sidewalk. “The DPW official in charge, noticing the clergy garb John was wearing from a Standing on the Side of Love rally supporting immigration reform earlier that day, asked him to say a few words before the crosses were loaded and the shrine dissolved completely. John’s prayer ended with, “May we all be the rebuilders.” John continues. “One of the DPW workers spoke softly to the official, who then turned to me and asked if I would carry Martin Richard’s cross to the van . . . I can’t describe the feelings that surged in me as I lifted the memorial to this 8-year-old boy. Sorrow, humility, and reverence for the sacred privilege come close. The destruction of that day cannot be undone. But it can be answered. Already we are busying ourselves with healing. . . There is much to do on a symbolic level. I’m beginning to ask myself how to move beyond the symbolic. I’ll be searching for ways to answer the destructive acts of these two individuals with actions grounded in my own highest values. I’ll be looking for ways that we, together, might re-consecrate sacred ground. In the midst of our joy and our sorrow may we be (re)builders of the future. In faith, Tracey (For the full text of John’s reflection go to http://www.uuworld.org/life/articles/285333.shtml)” |
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