by Liz | Mar 28, 2008 | main
I was reading the Thursday Gospel. Jesus, the risen Jesus, appears again to people. And once again, He steps up to the plate to reassure them in their fear that they are seeing a ghost by having them inspect His hands and feet and by eating with them.
I am often frightened when it comes time to inspect my own hurts. Doing that might unleash a wellspring of anger and pain that I would just as soon let sleep. But, until I take the step to try to do that, they cannot really be transformed – or, dare I say resurrected, as something new. Years ago, when I was sinking into a deep, muddy place in life, I read Thomas More’s “Care of the Soul.” The imagery there was that of shining a light into the dark corners. The result of allowing the light to shine into these dark corners is that the monsters that are uncovered are not nearly so scary. It seems that the acceptance of their existence removes some of their power to reduce me to a frightened child hiding in another dark corner. But, I also see that looking at them in the light can transform them into something new – something unexpected. I’ll only go into those dark corners with a reassuring light that can allow me to accept what I find and possibly transform it into something new.
When I don’t want to look in the dark places it helps to look back at past experiences with this phenomenon. Having passed through depression, I have been granted some understanding and compassion for others who find themselves in this spot. Not that I would choose to go through it, but since I have it is good to know that the experience can be used in some way to help another through such a bad time.
Which brings me back to the original image in this gospel: If Jesus can allow others to inspect His wounds and use that to reassure them, to help them not be afraid, am I not also called to do the same?
by Liz | Mar 27, 2008 | main
Holy Week and Easter Sunday are done. Put to rest. The music and responses have been sung(I’m a parish musician – could you tell?). The pressure is off. Or is it?
Jack, our pastor, made a telling observation in his Easter homily. The Resurrection took place on the first day of the week – a work day, it seems, as it was the day after the Sabbath. And so it is with us. Jesus is Risen! This is not [just] a Sunday event. It means that we must see the resurrection, must see Christ all week. Everyday. At work. At home. On the road to Emmaus. As we break bread at lunch and dinner. Over coffee and bagels and prayer on Wednesday morning at 7 am.
About coffee and bagels and prayer on Wednesday morning… This meeting seems to be one of my lifelines. As we share, we first reflect on our “closest moment” — the time when we most clearly felt or saw the presence of Jesus/God in our lives in the past week. In theory, we are to move on to what we have learned in the past week to make us more Christian, and what actions we have taken to follow the path. In reality, we seldom formally get past those closest moments.
That’s ok by me. For it is in the reflection and telling of those moments that I begin to understand how I have been changed (if indeed I have) and how my interactions with others might help or hinder in bringing God into my world in a concrete way. I look at the past week, and see a hand that touched me. That reminds me of something that happened a week before. Which calls up something from further back. Pretty soon the picture becomes not a portrait, but an exquisitely detailed landscape that helps me to see not only close up but also with the wide-angle lens.
This remembering helps me to understand the Eucharist. It’s not just recalling a event from the past, but rather a bringing that event to life here and now. To remember in this way opens my eyes, just as I imagine the eyes of the disciples were opened at the breaking of the bread or when Thomas was allowed to touch Jesus’ hands for himself. Suddenly, even if I wasn’t totally aware at the time, I can see where God is walking beside me. With practice, then perhaps I can be aware of this even as it happens (not always, but ocasionally)… and be able to be more forgiving, more understanding, more able and willing to act in the present. To dispense with the horses and chariots and not get bogged down and drown.
by Liz | Mar 26, 2008 | main
This really begins at the Easter Vigil. There are 3 readings that are required: The Gospel (of course), the Epistle (of course) and the Exodus reading about crossing the Red Sea. There might be up to 7 old testament readings, but the reading from Exodus is required. And so, I listened the the recounting of the Israelites crossing the Red Sea in safety while the horses and the chariot wheels of the Egyptians became bogged down in the mud, they were floundering and stuck and the water washed them away.
Hmm… there’s alot going on in my life right now, and I feel like I’m setting off to cross the Red Sea. A part of my fear is that I might turn out to be an Egyptian. A few drops of water splashing on me, ok — but I don’t want to get stuck and drown when the water rushes by into the space.
It seems to me that the Israelites traveled light, on foot with few possessions and trust in God. The Egyptians drove their horses and chariots into the fray. They took all of their own power and possessions into the pursuit. Then they got stuck, and when they tried to go forward or retreat, they were stuck, the water rolled over them and they drowned in the sea.
Lord! Help me to let go and travel lightly. Help me to trust that You are with me and that there will be manna on the other side should I need it. Help me to remember that my lintel is marked with the Blood of the Lamb so that death and destruction will passover me. Help me to remember that even though I might have to wander in the wilderness for a while, that You are with me, to guide me and lead me to the Promised Land.
by Liz | Mar 16, 2008 | main
Today, Palm Sunday, we finish Lent and walk into Holy Week. It’s been a Good Lent.
A couple of weeks before Lent started, I was given a penance, if it can be called that, of “staying with the question.” What kind of penance could that be? For me, it is a real command to change, and practice change. My first choice when faced with an unanswerable problem is to run and hide in a closet and hope the whole mess disappears. “Staying with the problem” means I can’t do that at all. It means I have to hold the problem, the issues, the situation and sit with it.
Our theme for Lent this year was “Listen, Reflect, Receive.” I didn’t know about this theme until after I got my marching orders, but it sounds a lot like reinforcing my goal of staying with the problem. And so, I have spent the past few weeks trying to listen: to myself, to those around me, to the situation(s) in general. I’ve tried to hear that which hides behind words and deeds.
I listened to the gospel reading last week which was the one about Lazarus dying and being called back from the tomb after 4 days. I read the reflection on that reading in Raising of Lazarus over on Creo en Dios! In that gospel, Susan heard strongly the words of Thomas the Doubter. Me, I heard Martha breaking down and, I imagine, almost screaming at Jesus – “If you had been here, my brother wouldn’t have died!” Sometimes, it’s so hard to listen when we hurt. Sometimes, I really can’t listen until I put my frustration into words and say it out loud. Maybe that’s what Martha had to do – before she could come to the point of listening and realizing that she did believe  that Jesus was “the One.”
After listening, comes reflection. In the Lazarus story, Martha does that as well. When Jesus begins to question her, she finds herself in a spot to reflect on what she knows and believes. And, so it happens with me. I spit things out, and then if I’m lucky, someone listens and moves me to reflect on those feelings and what and why they are. That can happen in prayer, but God seems to meet me where I am and often provides another human being to play that role – to be the mirror for me.
And I find it encouraging that Martha, who was so upset, is the one who also receives the gift of faith – she is the one in the story who proclaims – “Yes, Lord, I believe…”
And so Lent has gone for me this year. There have been doors that have started to open, even if only a bit. I have tried to stay with the problem, stay in the moment, not run and hide (that was my penance after all). And in doing so, my ears have been opened just a bit, and I have both reflected on what I have seen and heard as well as stayed there to see my reflection in the mirror, and it seems that has allowed me to receive some peace.
Good Lent.
by Liz | Mar 10, 2008 | main
After Friday’s post about the frustrations of being looked at as a one-trick pony, I had a powerful, wonderful, moving weekend. And, I found that I am able to move beyond whining about that one-trick.
More than one team member (this was formation weekend for a Women’s Cursillo) indicated that they felt that they had been asked to do the one thing they seemed to be struggling with at the time. God was calling them back to practice, as it were. Or calling them to grow in a direction that they wouldn’t have taken left to their own devices. Very interesting… and, of course, each shared from her own personal place, and none knew what message would be received in the sharing. So, music, here I come.
