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“Turn to where the light is shining “: seven years ago, the Franciscan friars left our parish. The new pastor, a diocesan priest, did his best to erase all signs of a Franciscan presence. At the time I was getting some acupressure treatments, and I would complain bitterly to the woman giving the treatments. Her only response: “Just take your light into that church.” And so I did, even when everything seemed dark. A new pastor arrived a year ago, and I am watching him become increasingly open to the charism of Francis and Clare. There certainly was no “cheap grace” here, but watching thus transformation of pastor and parishioners has made it worth paying the price.
I have been asked, “where was and is joy in your life?” Well, it was and is everywhere. In the people, places and experiences that have made me who I am, taught me the truth beyond the facts. Some of this didn’t feel “joyful” at the time. But seen through the lens of the heart and spoken in the depths of the soul, each becomes permeated with joy. Even a seemingly forsaken place like Muleshoe, Texas with gigantic flies and ever blowing dust had joy, especially when remembered from a distance. 😊
On Friday, five of us gathered on zoom to celebrate the life of one of our contemplative sisters Nancy. She was present, said very little but listened intently. She has declined rapidly in the past two weeks. We each thanked her for all that she had offered of her wisdom. We offered a closing prayer and sang “Sophia Wisdom”. When she departed the zoom room, the four of us remained, resting in the silence, the Presence. We shared a bit about the experience, but some things could not be put into words. Over the past three years, we have shared both silence and conversation. But it was the silence that created the bond.
“Opportunities abound.” I play golf in an adaptive cart. Opportunities to practice compassion abound: compassion towards the other golfers, compassion towards the golf ball that cannot seem to find the hole; and – most difficult – compassion towards myself. it is a practice that I can take from the golf course into the every day where opportunities also abound.
A member of our small contemplative group is in hospice care. She tells us that – when all is said and done – all that matters is to be love. So simple. So challenging. So sacred.
The energy of prayer- be it movement, dance, song or silence knows no boundaries of time or space or preference. And that energy can give us individual and communal courage to go to the edge and beyond.
There are six of us in an online group. We have met weekly since the beginning of the pandemic. One of the group is in the fourth month of hospice. We want to say something, do something to thank her, to celebrate her life. But – when, how? She is looking thinner, weaker. We know we can’t wait much longer. Yesterday she said she has a new sense of freedom – from regrets, from worries. Her openness will be our guide. Spirit will lead us.
Intentions: I have started facilitating a contemplative writing group. Each week, I offer the participants a “writing prompt”: a poem, a story, a short text. The prompt is meant to evoke a thought, memory, idea that then becomes a written piece. Prompts can uncover surprises, challenges, new depths. Since I started this group, everything I see and experience and read has become a potential prompt. Not only a prompt for the group, but an everyday prompt that invites me to see the sacred everywhere, and often write about it. A surprising and often delightful (sometimes unnerving) development.
“Notice opinions”: The daily news is filled with opportunities for internal opinions. I talk to myself, judging the games that make playthings out of migrants. I get caught up in the game, define who is right and who is wrong. Step back, get out of myself, see the price that we all play for the poverty and violence all around us. Pray that I can put compassion and understanding into my heart and let it move outward. Give thanks for models of compassion. Move from head to heart.
“Perfect love has taken possession of her.” Oh my. I am not ready for this. To be on fire. To be the fire. To lose myself. No. I hang on. Tight. So much energy in this resistance. Is it pride? Is it independence. Or – could it be fear?
Last Tuesday, I shared a tai chi chih practice with an unusual group. The practice is offered each week at a mental health clinic that is used by mostly poor and sometimes homeless individuals. On this day there were two long time practitioners and one fairly new one. On speaker phone were two more who were at home with a sick daughter. In the middle of the circle was a small dog owned by one of the group. The only spoken words were mine as I gave the name of each movement. We moved together in silence for about 20 minutes. Even the dog relaxed and grew silent. For that brief time, we moved as one, sharing energy and silence . We ended with”Namaste” – “The light in me honors the light in you. “. We were as one – one practice, one energy, one prayer.
Touch. Thomas was invited to touch, to feel, to believe. The pandemic introduced a heightened fear of touch. In our churches the handshake of peace became a wave – from a distance and masked. The Eucharist was preceded by hand sanitizer, making the Body of Christ have an antiseptic aura. Jesus was anything but antiseptic. He touched everyone, ate at table with those whose hands were unclean, reminding us that touch can be inclusive and healing. Have you touched someone today? Have I?
This resurrection is not a one time event. It is not only an individual event. As our small planet hurtles through space, joined by countless planets in countless galaxies, we are called to believe in a resurrected life. It is a life that embraces it all in the grand Mystery. It is a resurrection of each individual that cannot be complete unless it is a resurrection of all. Our faith calls us to believe that how we live, what we do does matter. That our resurrected and renewed energy is important, that all creation is different because of our presence. So let us each rise from the self made tombs of self absorption and emerge into the resurrected life we are called to live. On this Easter Sunday, on every day. In the present place and time and in the timeless mystery of all creation. Joy to you. Joy to all.
It is so hard for me to let go of the myth of self reliance, particularly as I age. In a meditation chapel, someone said, “We grieve our way into awakening”. I will let this thought simmer today.
Today I am holding in my heart two people who died on this day – one in 2022 and the other in 2020. In 2022, a mass shooting in downtown Sacramento killed six people. The location of the shooting was at 10th and K Streets – both a center of nightclub life and of the unhoused who oft3n hid in doorways and alleys. One of the dead was Melinda, known only to service providers and a few friends. Her name became public only when she became a statistic. Betsy was a homeless woman who could neither read nor write. She was abandoned by her family and with the help of Interfaith Shelter was able to qualify for benefits and rent a studio apartment. Betsy had a deep wisdom and a trust in the goodness of life. She was one of my best teachers.
