by Liz | Jul 16, 2009 | main
OK – so it is the middle of the night — my eyes are dry and my spouse is going through a period of problematic breathing (snoring?); so I decided to read my email and come upon today’s first reading for mass. It’s Exodus 3 and it contains the following:
“But,” said Moses to God, “when I go to the Israelites and say to them, ‘The God of your fathers has sent me to you,’ if they ask me, ‘What is his name?’ what am I to tell them?” God replied, “I am who am.” Then he added, “This is what you shall tell the Israelites: I AM sent me to you.”
I used to pass a sign at a church that misquoted this by saying “I AM WHO I AM” – That gave me pause, because it seems to miss the point. “I AM WHO I AM” seems to imply a being that is smug and uninterested. I read that and get the picture of a God who says – “Just deal with it” and sits there doing his own thing. I AM is the “not a name” reference to God as the foundation of the universe. I AM refuses to fit into that box that we so often want to shove God into. I AM is not God captured in a consecrated host for communion but God beyond all names, present in everything and every moment. I AM is the source of our being.
When this reading comes around in the cycle, I am called back to one of my favorite literary genre’s: fantasy/science fiction. In fantasy, one often discovers wizards who will never reveal their true names because to know a wizard’s true/real name gives power over him/her. And so it is with me – with all of us, I dare say: we try our best to give God a proper name so that we have some control. This way we hope to have God do our bidding instead of the other way around.
And so, at 3 am, I sit with joy at the realization that I AM is more than I can ever grasp. I can rest in the understanding that this is “a good thing.” I think I’ll find my eyedrops and head back to bed secure in the knowledge that I AM is always present to me, if I listen. (And, that is easier as the snoring has ceased);
by Liz | Jul 8, 2009 | main
My husband lost another aunt last winter. She was, I believe, the last surviving civilian WWII POW (Philippines) in the state of Maine. There were lots of stories there that took decades to become tellable. We are here in her old stomping grounds, visiting and sharing meals with family that was close to her and I notice something about the conversation. There are times when Jackie is still referred to in the present temse. “Jackie really likes this” or “She wants you to have this.” We even having dinner to celebrate her birthday this week. All the while, this is co-mingled with talk of the continuing disposition of her things… things that are precious to keep and things that can finally be passed on or gotten rid of.
It brings to mind the Easter Season and Pentecost. Jesus is gone, but He is still around. What do we remember? What is he still telling us? He’s gone, but no! he’s still here. It’s been several months, but only now is it becoming clear — We are the ones to carry on.
I can only hope that we will be remember with as much love as she is.
by Liz | Jun 26, 2009 | main
by Liz | Jun 18, 2009 | main
I’m a mother of 3 and a grandmother of 2. There’s a wedding (3rd of 3) before year’s end. My children are adults – but they are still children on some days, and my babies on all days. As such, it becomes difficult at times to stand my ground and not be guilt-ridden when they try to play the “Mom always loved you better” game.
To be honest, they don’t do this very often. It’s often triggered by frustrations in their own lives. I know because I have a Mother and I know the temptation to play the game with my own siblings. And, it happens when we are unsettled in our own lives. “You did this for him – but not me.” or “You spend more time with her children than mine.” or “He/She gets away with murder and I’m always held responsible.”
This game seems to have reared its head recently. This time, I’m not playing. If push comes to shove, I’ll step aside and let them work it out between themselves. I love them all — and I’ve done my best to love each of them the best I can in each situation.
I’m not God, but I’m certainly called to try to understand just a little bit of how God’s love works. God loves me enough to meet my needs. I don’t need to compare what I get to what the next guy gets. Mind you, I said I don’t need to – but, all too often I still do it and that causes me unnecessary pain and suffering. Same lesson my children need to learn with me… I love you each. And that requires something different for each of you.
I’m standing my ground. I know I love each of them. And I won’t be bullied into the comparison game. Each one is special.
by Liz | Jun 17, 2009 | main
Myth, science fiction and fantasy – tales of wizards and magical beings are reflections of real truths. For example – a wizards is very careful about someone actually knowing his true name. To be named is to be controllable. Even the Old Testament God had an unpronounceable name — isn’t that what Yahweh approximates? Trying to pronounce something that is fundamentally unpronounceable?
And so, I’m back at this point in my spiral of journey. Naming things. Identifying things. Grabbing a hold of something so I can let it go. Maybe forever this time. Can’t let go of something when I don’t know what it is. Peel another layer off the onion so I can see more clearly what has a grip on me and wriggle free… or may see more clearly what I am clinging too, and then be able to let go of it.
What do I name? I name those hurts that I carry along. I look deeper to see what the real hurt is. So often, the hurt that makes me start looking is a decoy – a mask – protection from seeing the real truth. Why does it upset me that my spouse can upset me? Why does my voice get shaky at work when I least want to be unsettled? Why does my child’s pain hurt more than my own?
When I am able to name the cause, I have the possiblity of laying it down. It’s the possibility of understanding fully that you can only truly forgive that which you remember. If you can’t really remember, you can’t name it, and then you can’t really completely let go… because you have to know what you are letting go of.
And so, finding myself facing the same things that I thought I had let go of brings me to the realization that I let go of only the part I could see at the time. This time I see a bit deeper, so I can let go of a bit more.
And the spiral continues… Amen.
