Advent Reflections: The Cave of the Heart

This Advent season has been rich and deep with images and words that have guided my thoughts and prayers while I await and prepare for the birth of Christ. I almost feel like I need a couple more weeks to let it all sink in. I know it is already Christmas Eve, but perhaps you will also find these reflections helpful as you continue your own journey.

One of the images that I have been particularly drawn to this year, though, I actually came across earlier in the year in Jan Richardson's book In Wisdom's Path. She begins her reflections on Wisdom, and Advent, with the image of a deep cave where Christ is born.

[Sister Doris Klein, C.S.A] held the opinion, she said, that Christ was born in a cave. "We all carry a cave," Sister Doris reflected, "a hidden place within us, into which God longs to be born." She told us that Advent is a season to enter that place, to turn inward and encounter the God who seeks to emerge through us.

This Advent, for me, has been one full of mystery. I think this is why I am drawn to this image of the cave. It is dark and unknown. I do not know how deep it is, or its shape. I do not even have a name for it. I only know that it is there. And yet, within this cave, God is present. The Holy One, the Christ Child, is born. In the places of my life, and within myself, that are dark and unkown, mysterious, even places that I do not want to see or touch, I remember that God is always present there, creating, birthing, transforming.

Within this cave, I think, is another image. The cave is not a vast, empty space void of meaning and purpose. Rather, it is full of Mystery, waiting, anticipation, expectation. It is not dead, but is alive with creating, growth, transformation. This cave is also a womb, pregnant with God's Spirit that grows within me, within us. At the cave we are drawn inward to attend to the Holy within us, to seek the Mystery beyond us, to await that which is growing within us. Through this tending and attending, out of the womb is born transformation that extends beyond us into the world.

In this journey during Advent we are brought into something that is larger than us, even larger than our world. This birth we await happens within us, and beyond us. We cannot understand it, we cannot explain it. We wait and we watch for what is about to happen. But we are not passive. Advent is also a time of preparation, of attending to what is needed within the cave, of tending to what is growing and birthing within us.

During this season I have been accompanied with several questions that may also now accompany you: What does your cave look like? What is needed within the cave? What is growing within you? What is within you that is waiting to be born into the world that you live in, as God works to bring salvation and transformation to all of us? Like Mary, how do you say "Yes. Let it be."? How do you tend this growth and transformation, in yourself, in your family, in your community, in the world beyond? And, like Mary visited Elizabeth, who also accomanies you in your journey?

In the cave of our hearts...in the fabric of our lives...in the soul of our earth...you continue, O God, to be born!

Creating: Entering into Mystery, Giving voice to my soul

Normally I am one who loves words. I find solace and energy in reading, and writing. Usually, the words I speak or hear in worship and prayer catch my imagination and give voice to my heart. But now and then I come to a time when words are not enough. Worship is dry and prayers are flat. The authors and poets who had previously fed me so deeply feel distant. The world and the God I once knew are no longer comprehensible. I am left restless and disturbed. I am left still hungry for the words that will bring inspiration and understanding, the words that will hold the mystery even for just a moment, the words that will give peace, assurance, and rest. Sometimes words are not enough. 

Thou who created the world

with a word,

hear me:

when I am hungering

for a language I have not found,

when I am thirsting

for phrases yet to be born,

when the words I have heard

turn to ash in my ear

and what I have uttered

becomes dust in my mouth,

quiet me

to hear you

speaking the words

that will create the world again. 

~Jan Richardson, In Wisdom's Path

Betsey Beckman, in Awakening the Creative Spirit: Bringing the arts to spiritual direction, says that "the arts are the language of the soul". "Through the arts we connect with the mystery of Creative Spirit beyond us, moving in us and through us. Through the arts we open ourselves to dialogue with the Divine." When words are not enough, I pull out my markers and sketchbook, or paints and canvas. I become silent. I get messy. I move. I feel. I wrestle. I breathe. I play. I create. And I watch for the face of God that is taking shape within me.

"Held", 2010

why am I reaching again for the brushes?when I paint your portrait, god,nothing happens. 

but I can choose to feel you. 

at my senses' horizonyou appear hesitantly,like scattered islands.
yet standing here, peering out,I'm all the time seen by you. 

the choruses of angels use up all of heaven.there's no more room for youin all that glory. you're living in your very last house. 

all creation holds its breath, listening within me,because, to hear you, I keep silent.~rainer maria rilke

I love words, but it is when I am creating that my soul is opened up to the Mystery that I cannot know through words. It is then, with a brush in my hand, that my imagination comes alive. What has been stirring in my soul is slowly revealed on the white canvas. Each movement, each breath, each dip and stroke becomes my prayer, my worship, the language I cannot speak, only embody. It is then that what has been hidden in my soul is given voice. 

"Pain Body", 2011

When I cannot find the words

and when I will not;

when solitude is my only offering

and silence takes up its lodgings

in my soul;

when anger is my invocation

and breaking my benediction,

O God,

hear my prayer.

~Jan Richardson, In Wisdom's Path

Sometimes words are not enough. Sometimes our souls need another language, an embodiment, a disturbance that can only create a holy opening. 


What is the language of your soul? What is it that brings you into the presence of Mystery?

Being Messy: Being Community

What does it mean to be in community? What does it mean to be Christians with other Christians, or Christians in the various contexts we find ourselves?


We often think of community as a group of people who share some commonalities-- the same neighborhood, the same church, the same belief, the same vocation, etc. Christian communities are meant to also include an intention to care and support one another. Communities are places where we belong, where we exercise the gifts and challenges of relationship.


Most of us have several communities we belong to-- family, work, school, church, neighborhoods, friends, etc. Lately, though, I've been wondering if we are really practicing true community. We do all kinds of things to foster community, to build community, to create community. But do we really know how to be community? Do we really want to be in community?


Especially in American culture, we spend most of our lives perfecting ourselves. We must be strong. We must succeed. We cannot break down. We smile just enough to hide the depression and anxiety that chokes our souls. We get busier and busier to squelch the fear and the insecurity. We ask "How are you?" as we pass each other in the halls, just barely making eye contact. And the automatic response is nearly always "Good." or "Fine.", because by then the moment has passed and there is no time to say how we really are. Community is beginning to look more like the last-ditch safety-net, or the way to at least appear to "love one another".


But, let's face it, life is messy. We are messy. Five year-olds get cancer. Professors at a peace college are murdered. Relationships fall apart unexpectedly. We lose our jobs, our homes, everything that tells us who we are. We have to put our lives on hold to help a struggling family member. People we love die. People we depend on abandon us. We hurt each other, or even someone we don't even know, simply because we are hurting ourselves. We struggle to grasp any sense of meaning and sense in the world. We are angry, confused, hurt, selfish, dishonest, violent, and unforgiving. We. Are. Messy. Each one of us, no more or less than the next. And we can't fix it. No matter how hard we try to make it better, or at least cover it up, we can't change it, really. It's who we are. We are human.


Being community means acknowledging the messyness, to see it, to allow it to be. I'm not sure we know how to do this. I'm not sure we know how to be okay with the mess, much less to allow ourselves to be messy. Lately I've found myself on the receiving end of relationship. It's a strange thing. I'm not sure I know how to allow myself to be honest and open, to be vulnerable, and to allow myself to receive the love of others. I don't want to let my messyness get out there. I want to fix it. And I want to be able to fix everyone else's mess too.


But I am beginning to see that life isn't about fixing it. We can't fix who we are. In fact, I believe, our deepest sin is not being who we truly are. Being community is about allowing ourselves to be who we truly are, to make space for our humanity together, messyness and all. Yes, it's counter-cultural. It's counter-intuitive. It's hard. But it is deeply and profoundly True. Because, really, it's at the heart of that mess that we see the image of God. In community, the mess and the holy live together. They are not separable. Not in the fixing, or the perfecting, but in the being. Community is a space where we acknowledge our own humanity, and the humanity of each other. Where the two most important questions are "What's your story?" and "Can I tell you mine?". Where we allow room for both the mess and the holy. Where we can be. 


"I think that we're being called to something harder than being conventional 'Good Samaritans'. To understand ourselves, individually and as a church, being rescued by strangers and foreigners by the wrong people. To understand ourselves, individually and as a church, as beaten, hungry, hurting, lost at the side of the road. Called to touch the parts of ourselves that are strange and damaged and needy. Called to receive love from people we don't know and have no reason to trust. And only then, in turn, being called to the second part: to go and do the same thing-- knowing it will change us in ways we didn't plan and may not like.
And both receiving and giving mean really opening ourselves to strangers--in whose bodies we find, and upon whose being depends, our own salvation."
-Sara Miles, Take this Bread

Storycatching

"In the midst of overwhelming noise and distraction, the voice of story is calling us to remember our true selves.... Story opens up a space between people that is unbound from the reality we are standing in.... Story is both the great revealer and concealer. There is the story of what gets said, and the story of what remains unsaid." -Christina Baldwin, Storycatcher

"Hidden in all stories is the One story. The more we listen, the clearer that Story becomes. Our true identity, who we are, why we are here, what sustains us, is in this story.... In telling them, we are telling each other the human story. Stories touch us in this place of common humanness, awaken us and weave us together as a family once again." -Rachel Naomi Remen, Kitchen Table Wisdom

I've been thinking a lot lately about stories. Stories are what shape our lives, give meaning to the stuff that weaves through our days, and connects us to each other in intimate ways. I have strong memories of sitting around the table at my grandparents', listening to my dad and aunts and uncles tell stories of growing up on the farm, riding around in "The Heap". Some of the most treasured moments of my life have been spent sitting with friends, welcoming each other into the stories of our lives, and creating new stories together. Some of the most important lessons I've learned have been taught through stories. Now, I spend my days creating space for others to tell their stories, and to be heard.

In the age of cellphones, email, and social networks, it seems obvious that we are seeking connection with others, even to the point of being constantly in the stream of communication in some way or another. Yet, as we seek to grow our sense of community and intimacy, it seems we become even more unsatisfied. How often do we really listen to stories? How often do we tell stories? How often do we allow ourselves to truly acknowledge each other, to be true to each other and to ourselves? Our stories become lost, mixed up, even unspoken, for the sake of immediacy and convenience. I have come to believe that the practice of telling our story, and listening to story, is what transforms our lives. It creates a space for our imaginations to open, our hearts to widen, and our spirits to grow. There is a power in story that goes beyond time, place, culture, religion, all the categories and barriers that we organize our lives into. The Spirit is alive in story. 

It seems so simple. Tell a story. But it's not at all. We each hold our stories in different ways. And we each tell our stories in different ways. I've been wondering more and more how I am listening to others' stories. How do I hold these stories? How do I tell my own stories? I'm beginning to realize that I have many stories that I've never even acknowledged as my story. What are the stories that are unspoken? How do I listen for the One story that is woven within all these stories?

"Two or three things I know for sure, and one of them is that to go on living I have to tell stories, that stories are the one sure way I know to touch the heart and change the world." -Dorothy Allison

Come, sit with me. Tell me your story. I'll tell you mine. 

Learning to Not Be a Student

Time. It often seems too fleeting, too fast. I can't believe summer is nearly over! It seems I'd just begun to settle into the rhythm of summer days when life began to get busy again.

It took me awhile to learn the new rhythm of summer, especially after the fullness of last semester. I'm realizing how much the rhythm of school life has shaped me. There is always something more to do--another paper, another assignment, another book to read, class to go to, meeting to attend, emails to send, exams to study for, presentations to prepare. There is always another task on the to-do list, always another appointment on the calendar, always something else to prepare for or anticipate. I'm always moving and working toward something, trying to find the right answers, trying to prove what I'm learning, trying to get that A.

If there is anything my last 19+ years in school have taught me, it's how to be a student. Every new experience, every new idea, reading or thought is something to learn from. I'm always turning things over, churning it around in my mind until I have it figured out. If there's something I don't understand or don't feel I know well enough, then I search for the answer. Thus the growing stack of library books on my shelf that I never have time to read. In the rhythm of school, knowledge is power, understanding is success, meaning is fulfillment. There is always an ever-present "Why?" or "How?" in my mind.

I've also been realizing how this rhythm has shaped my spirituality. I'm always working toward the next step, always questioning, always trying to understand. Mostly this has been fruitful. All my inner processing and work pushes me to grow. And yet this rhythm can also be dangerous and distorting.

As I've entered in to the more relaxed rhythm of summer time, it actually took me awhile to let go of the rhythm of school and work. Even physically, I felt like I needed to be working on something or going somewhere. Likewise, it is difficult to let go of the desire to understand, to figure out all the "Why?"s and "How?"s and  "What?"s and "Where?"s, to grow RIGHT NOW.

This reminds me of an image of a seedling holding a watering can over its head, trying to do all the growing work itself. Sometimes I think I have a heat lamp in my other hand too. I forget that I don't need to do this all myself, or that I'm not even the one creating. I forget that there isn't a deadline for my growth. I'm not the Creator, the Healer, the Cultivator, even the Sower. I'm not the one creating me in God's image. That would be shallow indeed.

True, my work will always be there. I will continually be growing. And God uses my inner processing to create in me. But I'm not the one who has to make sure I "arrive", and on time. I only need to be open to God's creating in me, and to trust that God provides what I need for growth in each moment. I don't need to seek God, to try to find God with all my questions and thinking and reading and praying and processing. It's rather silly that I would want to try to find God, anyway. God is right here, surrounding me, within me, through me. I cannot be without God. All that is truly necessary is to continually become open to the grace of God, to allow God to create and heal and cultivate in me more fully, and to become increasingly aware of God's presence around and within me. All that is really needed is silence.

The sun hears the fields talking about effort

and the sun

smiles,

and whispers to

me,

"Why don't the fields just rest, for

I am willing to do

everything

to help them 

grow?"

Rest, my dears, in

prayer.

~"Rest in Prayer" by St. Catherine of Siena

Journey Toward Wholeness

Journey Toward Wholeness 

The circle and the spiral have become important images for me as I reflect on my life with God. (See previous posts Spinning in Circles and Spinning into the Invisible.) I have recently returned again to the image of the spiral, but with a bit different perspective. 

I've titled this painting "Journey Toward Wholeness". It is an image of the path of my life, our lives. Through life we are always moving, always growing, always being shaped by each encounter and experience. We are always on a path. But, I have learned to see the path of life less as a linear destination and more as a spiral, full of turning. The rhythm of our lives continually brings us to shifts and changes, different seasons and spaces. As in the spiral too, sometimes we return to the same linear point, but we are present in a different way, not quite at the same place we were before. Life, or God, has a way of both bringing us into new encounters, new places, and returning us again to the same, or similar experiences, encounters, relationships, learnings, gifts and struggles. Sometimes the path takes us inward, to wrestle and to be encountered with the face of God within our very selves. Sometimes the path takes us outward, to encounter the face of God as we are present with and engage life that surrounds us. 

If we are attending to this journey, through these turnings and returnings God reveals God's self and we are created into the image of God more fully. God is ever present at the center, within the turning, at the rim, and beyond. We walk this path over and over, inward and outward. As we journey both inward and outward, we are stretched and grown, we see our souls more fully, we see God more fully. 

And we do not journey alone. Like the firefly, we journey with a longing, a seeking. And we share that longing with all. As we journey along our path, we are joined by others who are journeying along their own paths. We are companions as we are continually drawn closer to the heart of God, toward wholeness.

Snow Reflections

 

As the snow is falling,

     sometimes gently, slowly,

     sometimes in blinding gusts that take

          the breath away,

 

     cleansing what was, just

          a few days ago,

                muddy, brown, and

                     dull,

     creating a new world

          full of opening, optimistic adventure,

          giddy playfulness,

               mystery,

                    beauty,

 

     blanketing the earth in softness,

          silence,

          giving of itself to

               seep into the deepest

                    roots,

          giving life that is waiting,

               nearly aching,

                    to burst into song

                    and dances of color,

                         a new season,

 

so the Spirit falls upon my soul.