Circling: 2012

Saturday, December 15, 2012

Advent Reflections

Here we are, again, in the midst of Advent- a season of hope, anticipation, light. Yet, this year, it feels more like the dark struggles of Lent than a joyful celebration of Jesus' birth. In the midst of such heavy violence and death, illness, brokenness, and just plain struggle, it is hard to find the hope or see the light of Advent.

Recently I have been using the Anabaptist prayer book, Take Our Moments and Our Days, to pray with the Scriptures regularly. As I began the Advent prayers, I was struck by one of the morning prayers:

Incarnate God,
holding tenderly all things human,
you became one of us.
Lighten our hearts
with Mary's vision of your just mercy,
that we may be gentled into joining you
in the hard and holy work
of releasing peace on earth.

Advent, I am learning, is a season of paradox. God becomes one of us. Justice becomes mercy. Hope is unknown without vulnerability. Light can only be seen through the darkness. Peace does not exist without struggle. And God holds all of these, inviting us to join in the work of releasing, birthing. God invites us to be present to the struggle and darkness just as much as to the hope and light, because it is only through the struggle that we are transformed. And it. is. hard. work. And it is holy work. Through it all, Christ is born. God is incarnate. Salvation comes. The promise is fulfilled.

Perhaps the deepest witness we can give this season is to step into both the work and the promise, as Mary did; to allow God to become incarnate in us and through us.

Saturday, November 10, 2012

Praying with Art

Over the last four or five years I've developed a practice of praying through art. This is how I pray when words are not enough, when I do not have words, or when I need to pray even though I feel lost and separated from God. Creating has a way of bringing me back to center, allowing me to express what I could not express in words or thoughts, and connecting me with the Spirit in a profound way. I could probably write a book, or at least a very long blog post, on the theology of praying by creating and why it is a meaningful practice. Last year I posted some reflections on praying with art here- Creating: Entering into Mystery, Giving voice to my soul. I thought this time I would share some of the practices that I have found meaningful. Feel free to explore with any of these in your own prayers.

When I pray with art I have several guidelines in mind:
1. This is art. There are no rules, anything goes.
2. I am praying. It is more about the process than the product.
3. Breathe. I begin by getting comfortable, putting on some music, centering my breath and asking God to be present as I pray. I am more open and aware of myself and the Spirit if my breathing is open.
4. Pay attention to what feels right. Praying by creating is about allowing my prayer and the Spirit to move from my imagination, through my body and into the piece I am creating. I notice what colors my eyes are drawn to, the movements that are in my hands, the images that come to mind, without judging. My body and imagination often know what I need to pray more than my mind does. Some of my most meaningful creations began with no intention or idea of what the piece would look like in the end.

Praying in Color
One of the simplest ways of praying with art is what I like to call "holy doodling". One way of doing this is to draw and doodle as you pray. Another method is to draw a shape as you pray for one person or situation, perhaps writing their name or a phrase inside. As you pray, add lines and colors to the shape, embellishing it until you are ready to move to another shape. Sybil MacBeth has written several books about praying in color, including one for children and one specifically for men. You can find more guidance and resources at her website- Praying in Color. This can also be done using paints.

Mandalas
Coloring mandalas was one of the first ways I began praying with art. A mandala is an intricate design within a circular (usually) pattern. They have been used in spiritual practices by many cultures and religions, and often the designs are symbolic. I like to think of them as a visual labyrinth. Mandalas can be used as a way to visually symbolize your prayer, or another way to engage your body and imagination in prayer like the praying in color practice. You can find hundreds of printable mandalas with a google search. This site has some of my favorite mandalas- mandala coloring sheets. I also have a mandala coloring book by Susanne Fincher that has become like a prayer journal. You can create your own mandala by filling a circle with shapes, images, or collage materials that are symbolic of your prayer.

Create a Prayer Altar
I have a small table in my art space that has a candle and some symbolic objects that help me enter into prayer. You can easily create a prayer altar at home by gathering objects that visually draw you to prayer- a candle, stones, flowers, cards with a special quote or picture, icons, objects that are symbolic of your relationship with God. This could be a meaningful practice to do as a family as well.

God Wall
Occasionally I have taped a large piece of paper on the wall, like project paper or I've used an old roll of wrapping paper that is blank on one side. At the top I write a soul question that I am praying with, a question that speaks to the deepest desires of my heart. Or, I've also used this as a tool for discernment. Then, as I pray with the question, each day I write a phrase, a word, draw an image, or another question that comes to mind on the paper. As the paper is filled, I pay attention to what connections and wisdom is being revealed through my prayer.

Painted Prayers
Divide your painting surface into blocks. On one block, write your prayer in pencil. Then paint over it, using an image that expresses your prayer or with colors and shapes your imagination is drawn to. Watch how your prayers come together over the days, weeks, or months that you pray. A banner or prayer shawl could be created by painting on fabric. It can also be done as a family or group. (Belmont folks- I am making plans to use this as a congregational practice during Advent this year.)

Praying with Imagery
Often in prayer an image comes to mind that expresses my prayer, or shows me how God is present. Sometimes I will pray with these images by drawing or painting them. They then become like icons that I can return to. However, I am also careful about outwardly expressing prayer images. I've found sometimes that painting can help me to pray more deeply with the image, interact with it and learn from it. And sometimes I need to get an image out and onto paper or canvas. I've also found that expressing an image outwardly usually releases the image from my mind. My painting never looks like what I visualize, and after it is painted, I can never return to the image in my mind in the same way. The images are still meaningful, but I no longer pray with them in the same way. So I try to be careful to not paint an image until I am ready to release it.

Collaging Wisdom Cards
Over the last few months I have been slowly working my way through Christine Valters Paintner's book The Artist's Rule: Nurturing your creative soul with monastic wisdom. The book is a twelve-week series of Christine's reflections on the connections between art and Benedictine spirituality, along with a written and visual practice for each session. So far, my favorite practice has been a collage. Here are the directions:
1. On three pieces of watercolor paper, write a soul question on each piece, a question that speaks to the deepest desires of your heart. One question for your inner artist, one for your inner monk, and one for both. (You can adapt to use any soul question that you need.) Mix up the cards, turn them over, and tape them to a table or easel board so that you can't see the questions.
2. Use watercolors to paint on each card, one at a time, exploring whatever colors and movements you are drawn to. Fill the background of the card.
3. Gather various inspiring images, quotes, objects that you can use for collaging. Notice which items create resonance or dissonance for you, without judging if they are the "right" images. Create a collage on the three cards using these images, working with one card at a time. Notice what happens internally during this process.
4. Before you turn the cards over, reflect on the process of creating each card. What did you notice in yourself? Which of the collages felt most freeing to create? Which one felt most challenging?
5. After exploring the process, turn over each image to see which question corresponds with the card. Notice the connections and synchronicity that is revealed.

When I did this project, I was fairly certain which question I was working with before I turned the card over. This was how I most learned that if I trust my intuition and my body, what I create will be what I need and will reveal wisdom that I might not have otherwise known. This practice could also be adapted by creating a collage of images and items that you are drawn to, then reflect on the creating process and the connections in the images.

As you pray, however you pray, may the creative force of transformation within you be awakened,

so that you may become who you truly are.

There is in us an instinct for newness, for renewal, for a liberation of creative power. We seek to awaken in ourselves a force which really changes our lives from within. And yet the same instinct tells us that this change is a recovery of that which is deepest, most original, most personal in ourselves. To be born again is not to become someone else, but to become ourselves.

~Thomas Merton

The heart of human identity is the capacity and desire for birthing. To be is to become creative and bring forth the beautiful.

~John O'Donohue

Sunday, September 16, 2012

Being Created Always, Always

This weekend I visited The Hermitage for an overnight retreat. (Side note- If you live in the northern Indiana/Michigan area, I highly recommend visiting. It's a wonderful space to get away and slow down.)

The meadow there, at this time of the year, is a-flame with goldenrod and burning bush trees. And the less vibrant, but equally miraculous, milkweed. The last time I walked through this meadow the air was filled with their tiny seeds, being released from their pods. I found a few pods clinging to their stems this weekend, the products of those dancing seeds, still soft and tightly closed. I pulled one off, intrigued by the prickly green cone and the sticky substance seeping from its stem, but especially by the tiny flat seeds enclosed inside, adorned with their soft white feathers.

These seeds, held closely in their luminescent pod, are safe and warm, hidden, protected. Then, eventually, the pod opens, dying to itself, and releases its gifts to the world. The seeds become free, dancing through the air, their own praise to the Creator. Or, sometimes, I imagine, this release is more a fall into a deep, dark abyss. Or, perhaps, an endless floating with no direction or purpose, except simply being. Being all that they are with all that they have in that moment.

And finally there is a settling. Rest. The tiny seed is held once again by the soft, warm ground, fed from the waters of the deep. Then, continuing the cycle, the seed also dies to itself and gives life to new growth. This tiny being opens, and a new being comes forth, growing to bear another pod and hundreds more feathered seeds. The journey of life and death, opening and closing, holding and releasing, continues on and on and on.

As I walk through the familiar meadow trails and woods, I become even more aware of this holding and releasing of nature. Chipmunks scurry across branches, gathering their berries and nuts for winter. Dew drops be-jeweling the grasses, giving life and sustenance and beauty. A brilliant red leaf, released by its tree and gathered onto the ground. The tail feather of a hawk, either no longer needed or torn from its being.

And me. I am a part of this creation too, joining the cycle of birth and death and re-birth. What am I being invited to release, and what might I need to hold close for a while longer? Where might I be called to open, just a bit more, to allow room for new growth? What is dying in me? And what is coming to life? Or, what has been torn from me and needs healing so that new life can come? How am I being held, and sustained, and set free by the One who creates me? How am I being all that I am in this moment?

The questions go on and on. Yet I am more and more convinced that the spiritual life is not really about doing this opening and releasing and dying and healing work ourselves. Just like the seeds are continually in this rhythm of birth and death at no effort from themselves, we too are a part of the eternal process of creating. We are created, but we are also being created, always, in each moment. This reminds me of one of my favorite poems by Thomas Aquinas-

Would any seed take root if it had not believed

His promise, when God said,

"Dears, I will rain. I will help you. I will turn into

warmth and effulgence,

I will be the Mother I am

and let you draw from

My body

and rise, and

rise."

Or, as Catherine of Sienna writes, "Why don't the fields just rest, for I am willing to do everything to help them grow? Rest, my dears, in prayer." It is not our work to create, or even to die. God is the Creator. By taking on the work of God, we try to be God. Rather, it is our work to be willing and open, to be present to ourselves and the world around us, to attend to what God is creating in us.

This, in the end, is more difficult than trying to do the work ourselves. It requires us to be vulnerable, and to look at places in ourselves and in the world that we'd rather not see. Even more challenging, we are invited to just let what we see be, accepting without judging, being present without fixing. To be present and aware and attentive sounds simple, almost like a cop-out. Yet we resist it constantly. All we really need to do is allow God within us to create us. Nothing more, nothing less.

May you find the space you need

to open to the Holy One within you,

to release and to hold,

to be held and to be freed,

to die and to be birthed again,

and to receive the fullness of grace

from the One who creates you

always, always.

Saturday, June 30, 2012

A Feast of Soul Words (and a bit of an update)

So, it seems my blogging has returned from the dead, or at least a very long sleep. These last months have been full, so full that blogging was placed even farther on the back burner. Here is a bit of what I've been up to the last few weeks-

In May I completed one more semester of classes at seminary and Andrews U, then GRADUATED from seminary with an M.Div. Even after four years, it still seems a bit unreal that I actually have a degree now. Following that was a couple weeks breathing in the greenness of the rolling mountains in MD and spending sacred time with family. I've been thoroughly enjoying slowing down, sleeping!, gardening, reading books that I don't have to write a paper on, and spending more time with friends. The change in rhythm during summer is always a fruitful space for reflection too, which has been nourishing. I am looking forward to several more weeks of the same, while I also continue to explore where God is leading next.

Soul Words-
A turning point such as graduation has a way of inspiring reflections not just on what I've learned over the last four years, but how I've learned and grown. I've realized that I learn most deeply, as many do, when I am able to connect to something through my heart, not just intellect. I have needed spaces and tools beyond seminary classes and coursework to help me integrate what I was learning intellectually to the ways my soul was being shaped, and vice versa. It became my practice to read books and writing that connected with my heart and nourished my soul, usually spiritual memoirs, alongside the authors I was reading for classes. I would often have one or two, sometimes three, books that I was reading in addition to textbooks. These authors allowed me to sink into the space of their words, to guide me as I was stretched and challenged, to center me in their assurance, and to continue to inspire my call and vision.

I'd like to give you a tour of my bookshelves and introduce you to some of my favorite authors. These are the books that are filled with underlined phrases and worn with dog-eared pages. These are my soul words.

One of the first authors I was introduced to was John O'Donohue. His lyrical writing in both Eternal Echoes and Anam Cara have drawn me into the mystery of the Holy One and formed meaningful images of how God is alive and present in all of life. I reflected on his image of the threshold into the invisible here- Spinning into the Invisible. O'Donohue closes each of his reflections by offering a blessing to the reader. Here is one of my favorites from Anam Cara.

May the light of your soul guide you.

May the light of your soul bless the work you do with the

secret love and warmth of your heart.

May you see in what you do the beauty of your own soul.

May the sacredness of your work bring healing, light, and renewal

to those who work with you and to those who see and

receive your work.

May your work never weary you.

May it release within you wellsprings of refreshment,

inspiration, and excitement.

May you be present in what you do.

May you never become lost in the bland absences.

May the day never burden.

May dawn find you awake and alert,

approaching your new day with dreams, possibilities, and promises.

May evening find you gracious and fulfilled.

May you go into the night blessed, sheltered, and protected.

May your soul calm, console, and renew you.

Another companion that I have returned to again and again is Jan Richardson. I often turn to her blog The Painted Prayerbook, and LOVE her reflections in In the Sanctuary of Women and Wisdom's Path. I've been particularly drawn to her image of the cave of the heart- Advent Reflections: The Cave of the Heart. Another favorite is her Easter "Prayer of Confession".

God of compassion,                                               Yet you have placed within us, God,

we acknowledge the times                                    a longing for survival,

we have lived too long                                          a hunger for your wholeness,

with the words that others have put                   a yearning for your comfort,

into our mouths,                                                     and a hope for all our healing.

with the pain they have written                            Bless our mouths

onto our bodies,                                                     to name our wounds,

with the terror they have burned                         that we may not fear them;

into our hearts,                                                       our bodies,

with the shame they have inscribed                    that we may cherish them;

onto our souls.                                                       our hearts, that we may delight

We know the times we have clung                      in their longings,

to sackcloth not of our making,                           and our souls, that we may trust

when we have lived                                               the wisdom of the stories they hold.

clothed in weariness,                                            Grant us the courage

cloaked with anger,                                                to be touched by you,

and enshrouded by sorrow.                                 that when our days of weeping

We grieve the occasions                                      are done,

when we have lived with alienation                    we may wear your garments

rather than association,                                        of gladness,

when we have sought isolation                          see one another in the light

rather than consolation,                                       of your love,

when our wounds within                                     and stand together in the power

have shut others out.                                           of your resurrection.

We confess our fear of the dark                          In the name of the risen Christ,

and our uncertainty of the light.                         we pray. Amen.

I had never really been interested in reading poetry until I found Daniel Ladinsky's collection of sacred poetry in Love Poems from God. These are a compilation of poems drawn from the wisdom of a variety of spiritual traditions and authors like Rumi, Eckhart, Hafiz, St. Teresa of Avila, and St. John of the Cross. This is another book that I return to over and over. Nearly every other page is ear-marked, I'm not sure I could choose just one favorite. Here is one by Meister Eckhart-

Expands His Being

All beings

are words of God,

His music, His

art.

Sacred books we are, for the infinite camps

in our

souls.

Every act reveals God and expands His Being.

I know that may be hard

to comprehend.
All creatures are doing their best

to help God in His birth

of Himself.

Enough talk for the night,

He is laboring in me;

I need to be silent

for a while,

worlds are forming

in my heart.

Another favorite poet is Mary Oliver. I appreciate so much how she finds the holy in the smallest details of nature and the most ordinarily beautiful things of life. Here is "Wild Geese" from Dream Work.

Wild Geese

You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees

for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of your body

love what it loves.

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.

Meanwhile the world goes on.

Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain

are moving across the landscapes,

over the prairies and the deep trees,

the mountains and the rivers.

Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,

are heading home again.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,

the world offers itself to your imagination,

calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting--

over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

The memoirs of writers like Nora Gallagher (Practicing Resurrection), Elizabeth Andrew (On the Threshold), Rachel Naomi Remen (Kitchen Table Wisdom), Henri Nouwen (The Inner Voice of Love), and Sue Monk Kidd (When the Heart Waits and Dancing with Pomegranates) have been stories that have guided me. Here is another image of the divine womb from Sue Monk Kidd in When the Heart Waits.

What we need to remember is that we're carried in God's womb in God's divine heart, even when we don't know it, even when God seems far away. That's been my growing awareness. First, God was only "up there". Then God was "all around". Next I began to see that God was also "within me". And now, most shockingly of all, I was finding that I am and always was "within God".

The author that has probably both challenged and inspired me the most is Sara Miles. Her first memoir, Take this Bread, tells her story of conversion after participating in the Eucharist, and forming a food pantry in her church that is shaped around the same Table. I've found her vision and image of community and ministry to be similar to my own- Being Messy:Being Community. It's always exciting to find others who are doing the same kind of work that I hope to do. I also just finished reading Sara's second book, Jesus Freak: Feeding, Healing, Raising the Dead, in which she shares more stories of her ministry.

The truth is that suffering can become the foundation of faith, if we're not scared to touch the sore places with love. If we don't hide ourselves away in fear, but get close enough to others to feel God's breath on our skin. Everything that hurts the body of Christ can let us know, past doubt, that new life is possible--not by forgetting evil, but through, in terms that are both religious and secular, truth and reconciliation.

Though school is out, my love of reading has not slowed. In fact, the first thing I did after finishing school requirements was order more books. On the to-read list for this summer is Brene Brown's I Thought it was Just Me (But it Isn't). After watching her TedX Talk (and here), I'm excited about what she has to say about vulnerability, shame, and living authentically. Bonus points that she's also a social worker. ;-)

These are the words and images that have fed me in the last several years. What nourishes your soul?

Sunday, February 26, 2012

Giving Up Fear for Lent

Wow, I had forgotten how long it's been since I last wrote. These months since December have been full and overflowing with the beginning of a new semester, internship, work, church, and just life in general. But the last few weeks have been especially full of fruitful conversations, reflections, and pondering. Here are a few that have been in the back of my mind to share with you all- fear, Patch Adams, vulnerability, and Lent.

1. Fear. This isn't really a new thing, but it's something I've become more deeply aware of lately. I'm not usually a fearful person. But I've been noticing how often fear has and is shaping how I respond to the situations and relationships I find myself in. I see this all around me in our culture, as well. Will I be safe? Will I have enough? Will I be loved and valued? Will I be good enough? Don't talk to strangers. Save for tomorrow. Work hard now to get ahead tomorrow. Wear this, eat that, buy these and be "in" (at least until the next fad comes along tomorrow). I'm beginning to wonder if underneath all our habits, rules and cultural norms, is a lot of ugly, paralyzing fear. Yes, fear helps us to be safe and aware of our limits. It also binds us, and blinds us. Fear keeps us in the containers that we've grown comfortable in. It only allows us to see what has always worked. It only shows us how to ignore the fear, or cover it up. Fear prevents us from living imaginatively, creatively. It keeps our focus on the problem, rather than the solution.

2. This brings me to a scene from one of my favorite movies- Patch Adams. The real Dr. Patch Adams has developed the Gesundheit! Institute, an organization with the mission to provide free medical care "based on the belief that one cannot separate the health of the individual from the health of the family, the community, the world, and the health care system itself". I love Patch's ability to step out of fear and to imagine ways to authentically care for people. This scene has remained in the back of my mind as I work at finding ways to provide care through pastoral social work.

3. I recently came across a video of a TEDx talk by Brene Brown. She is a social work researcher and speaks about her study of wholeheartedness. Ironically, she's found that the people who are able to live wholeheartedly are also the people who have been willing to be vulnerable. The two go hand in hand. I love Brown's definition of courage- the ability to tell the story of who you are with your whole heart. In other words, living fully, feeling connected and worthy, is directly related to letting go of fear.

Lent- It is a common practice to give something up for Lent. I'm not very good at this. This is mostly because I don't like the idea of giving something up (like chocolate or Facebook) to become more disciplined. I guess I'm just not very good at will-power and self-control like that. I also think this practice plays into the culture of shame that is prevalent in the church. "I'm not good enough, so I need to become more disciplined." However, Lent is a deeply formational time. Traditionally, in the early church, Lent was a time of preparation for baptism. Converts would spend these 40 days in deeper reflection, confession, and learning the practices that would shape their faith. I appreciate Jan Richardson's perspective, that Lent is an invitation "to live into the Incarnation--to wrestle with what it means that God became flesh; to discern how God calls us to let the Word become flesh in us; to let go of what hinders us from recognizing Christ and finding and following the pathways he opens to us." In a blog entry on The Painted Prayerbook, Richardson describes this Lenten work as a journey of joining in covenant with God, and untangling ourselves from things that bind us.

The last few years when I have considered Lenten practices, I have worked at creating practices that will give me the space I need to open to the formation that I need. This year, I think I might give up fear. Will you join me? What if, during these next six weeks of Lent, we became more aware of our fear? What if we chose to allow ourselves to be vulnerable? What if we chose to see the world with imagination and curiosity? What if we untangled ourselves from the paralysis of fear, and lived in resurrection?